


All I Need This Christmas

by Delia_Maguire



Series: Recovery //Reverse AU Shorts// [3]
Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Role Reversal, Android Hank Anderson, Angst, Anxiety, Body Image, Christmas, Christmas Cookies, Christmas Fluff, Christmas Party, Christmas Tree, Connor Deserves Happiness, Cuddling & Snuggling, Depression, Eating Disorders, Grief/Mourning, Human Connor (Detroit: Become Human), Implied/Referenced Homophobia, M/M, Office Party, Past Character Death, Rape Recovery, Touch-Starved
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-11
Updated: 2018-12-25
Packaged: 2019-09-16 00:36:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 27,338
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16943691
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Delia_Maguire/pseuds/Delia_Maguire
Summary: It's Hank's first Christmas and Connor wants to make it perfect - And no amount of psychological damage is going to stop him!...Hopefully.





	1. 'Tis the Season

November had been a whirlwind. 

One second Connor had been dragging his ass to work three hours late, the next he was thrown smack dab in the middle of the android revolution. He’d gotten a partner, been thrown out a window, got the shit beat out of him, and helped free an entire race of people all in the course of about a week. Somehow, he’d come out of it all with a hot hunk of mechanical manliness though so hey, that was something. 

But, the rush and tumble of the autumn was over as quick as it had begun and that roller coaster ride from hell spat him straight into a whole new nightmare…

December.

The moment the first note of Jingle Bells blasted through his car radio Connor felt it. 

That old feeling.

It wasn’t a fast thing. Or a loud one. No, it was quiet. A quiet, creeping thing that slowly sunk into his veins like spilled ink creeping across a sheet of paper until he could feel it in his bones. 

“Detective, you've moved exactly three inches in the past five hours.” Hank’s familiar voice drew the human out of his thoughts and when he slowly drew his eyes up from where they’d been uselessly resting on the floorboards he saw the android standing a few feet away, giving him a flat look. Three inches? What a feat. Considering his arm had fallen off the couch hours ago and he still really hadn’t gathered the motivation to pull it back up yet, the android ought to have been impressed if he’d managed to move those wondrous inches.

“And you’re not wearing sweatpants.” Connor pointed out in retaliation, jabbing an accusatory finger at the android’s beefy legs, currently clad in crisp dress pants. “It’s Sunday, Hank. We wear sweatpants on Sunday.” The human reprimanded, gesturing down at his own legs splayed out across the couch in a baggy pair of gray sweats, white drawstrings drawn in a loose bow and plush cloth sagging low to reveal pale hip bones. He briefly considered waving a scolding finger at the droid but, honestly, that just felt like it would require way too much effort. 

“It’s Monday, Detective.” Hank corrected flatly, expression deadpan in a way that could only be described as human.

“What?” Connor barked incredulously, scrambling upright in a half formed flail, body not quite in line with his lagging thoughts as the robot’s words washed over him and slowly translated through his fogged head. He floundered for a moment before he remembered how to work his own arms and grabbed his phone off the coffee table, snapping it up to his face and staring blearily at the numbers blazing across the screen, vision blurred where he’d let his eyes linger half lidded for so long. 4:46 in the afternoon. Fuck. 

“Shit, Hank! Why didn’t you say anything?” Connor balked, tossing the phone away from him as if not seeing the numbers would make them go away. “Aw, fuck. Aw, fuck! The Captain’s gonna kill me!” The man panicked, jolting up of the couch like someone had shoved an electric baton up his ass but he moved too quickly and only succeeded in tripping over himself, sending his lithe body flying. His long legs tangled with themselves, dragging each other down and sending the rest of him face first off the piece of furniture with a squeaky yelp. His face hit the rug, nose plowing straight into the carpet. 

Truly, he was the epitome of grace. No wonder RoboHunk3000 wanted a piece of this. 

“I called and got us the day off.” Hank explained calmly, his gravelling tones sounding a lot closer than they had a moment ago and a pair of black work shoes soon appeared in Connor’s line of sight.

Connor removed his nose from the ground with a low groan to find Hank’s large hand taking up most of his vision, fingers extended and large palm curved. He grabbed the offered limb and let himself be hauled upright, more than a little grateful he didn’t have to go to the effort of pulling his body off the floor himself. The human got his legs back under him but didn’t let go, wrapping his lithe fingers over Hank’s and tugging the robot forward with him onto the couch, patting the spot beside him.

Hank lowered himself down beside the human, the cushion sinking under his mechanical weight, and Connor leaned into his shoulder the moment he was settled, a soft hum brushing between his lips as he let his head fall heavily against the arch of the android’s fabricated skeletal structure. A lock of curling hair fell into his face but he didn’t bother to brush it away, having little energy to do more than rub a thumb over the back of his companion’s large hand and marvel at the sight of his own fingers all but vanishing under the machine’s huge palm. 

The detective loved the feeling of his own hand in the robot’s. That Hank’s hand was so much bigger than his. The heavy weight rested over him like a blanket and made him feel safe in a way. Fuck yeah, holding hands was awesome. 

He should probably ask why Hank got them the day off. 

He really didn’t care enough to put forth all that energy.

“Sounds good. You can watch these shitty Hallmark holiday specials with me then.” The human invited easily, letting the tension drain out of his body so that it sagged bonelessly against his companion. “I’m placing bets on blondie getting with broody beefcake.” He informed, gesturing vaguely at the screen where some chick with long hair was currently screaming at a dude with an evening shadow. He’d screwed up and she was overreacting. Just like the last seven movies he’d watched.

“Doesn’t the blondie always get with the broody beefcake?” Hank pointed out, squinting at the television like it was some kind of puzzle and his LED spun a confused yellow as he fought to solve it. Kinda cute, really. Connor would definitely have smiled if he had the motivation.

“That’s the joy of it, Robocop.” Connor explained vaguely, waving one hand around in the air between them. Long fingers soon fell back in his own lap. Geez that was tiring.

“Predictability?” The android quipped incredulously, dry disbelief forming over his features. Props to whatever Cyberlife designer crafted such a perfect reflection of snarky incredulousness.

“Yeppers.” Connor snorted tastelessly, slumping back against the couch. “Us humans take comfort in it.” The detective elaborated lightly as blondie stupidly called her ex. He wouldn’t last a half hour, Connor had watched enough of these movies to know.

“You don’t display the tendency often, Detective.” Hank commented jokingly, a small smile creeping across his features. It was… nice. Unprogrammed. Real.  “Maybe watching popular holiday media will broaden my knowledge of the subject.” The android went on to add after a moment and in an instant any minor peace Connor had slipped into evaporated in an instant.

The human’s stomach lurched and ice poured into his veins. Guilt, nauseating and gut wrenching stormed over him. He’d been so wrapped up with work, and the revolution, and all that he hadn't really realised this was Hank’s first Christmas. The android had only deviated a month ago - And here Connor was spending it lying on a damn couch. 

No. 

No, it was only the like, the 23rd or something like that. He could pull this off. He could  _ get his shit together  _ and give his amazing android boyfriend the spectacular first Christmas he deserved.

He could do this. 

Three hours of holiday traffic later, Connor realized he could not, in fact, do this.


	2. Wonders of Technology

“Remind me again why we’re going to the mall, Detective?” Hank prompted for about the fifth time that hour. The android sat scrunched up in the passenger seat of Connor’s car, bent over to keep his head from hitting the roof and mechanical body smooshed up awkwardly to fit on the tiny seat, his seat belt pulled tight across his shoulder despite the fact that they’d pulled into the parking lot twenty minutes ago. 

Then again, when the human suddenly whipped the car violently into the first available parking spot he could and the android’s body flew with the action before being hauled back by the cloth strap… It kinda seemed like a better idea than Connor had given it credit for. Especially after he slammed his own teeth straight into the steering wheel.

“We’re gonna buy matching ugly sweaters.” Connor reminded helpfully, pulling his mouth off the leather covering of his wheel - No blood! - and diligently ignoring the angry blaring of the horn of a truck behind them that had been gunning for the godsend space.

“Yes, I understand that.” Hank acknowledged slowly, voice halting like he was still trying to piece together his words as they fell from his lips. “I am just uncertain of the cause of this sudden change in behavior.” The android commented as he reached a hand down to unbuckle his seat belt, popping the thing open with a barely audible click. “I thought you wanted to watch movies.” The machine pointed out as he pulled on the handle of the door and pushed the door open, letting the frigid December wind whip into the warm interior of the car, the comfortable heat rushing out in a minute to be replaced by icy chill.

“No, no.” Connor dismissed as he opened his own door and slid out, arching his angular shoulders against the winds nipping bite as it snapped at his ears and dug its teeth into his skin. “This is your first Christmas, Hanky Panky. We’re not spending it watching shitty rom coms.” The human shook his head decidedly and slammed his car door shut behind him. He most certainly would not let that happen.

Hank gave him an odd look. What the hell was Connor supposed to gather from that drastic eyebrow slope? Well, other than the fact that whatever Cyberlife designer who was in charge of programming facial expression had way too much time on their hands.

The android thankfully relented, however, and pulled himself out of the car, only hitting his head off the door frame once this time. A considerable improvement. 

The air outside was crisp with that familiar winter frost and stung against Connor’s cheeks when it whipped mercilessly through the crowded parking lot. Luckily, the spot he was able to swipe out from under that truck driver’s nose was close to the doors, the majestic glass panes of promising warmth already visible on the blessed horizon. If he was quick, maybe he could scurry the length before Hank had a chance to start scolding him for not wearing a scarf.

“You should’ve worn a scarf, Detective.” Hank chastised before Connor had even so much as made it two steps. So much for that idea.

“The mall entrance is literally two steps away, Robocop. I think I’ll survive.” The human teased lightly but Hank didn’t look quite so convinced, mechanical lips set in a straight lined look of disapproval and blue eyes unrelenting. Connor quickly turned away from the chastising expression and all but bolted across the parking lot, long legs pattering noisily against the dark asphalt underfoot in his rush and lean fingers keeping the collar of his jacket pulled high to guard his stinging cheeks from the wind.  

However… While, despite the robot’s doubts, the detective did, in fact survive the short jaunt to the mall entrance; actually entering the economic mecca, however, was a completely different story.

Connor’s legs slowed to a stop as he took in the familiar doors, usually left plain and undisturbed save for a few posters advertising crappy two for one deals or the opening of some new store that wouldn’t last a month. Massive poles, gaudily stripped with crimson streaks arched over the sprawling glass door to tower high above the human standing stalled just before the entrance. The entryway itself was trimmed with bunches of thick, coarse strands of plastic holly that hung down in front of the door itself in smothering drapes, bright greens and reds outlining the fake frost tinted glass. The shrill ringing of a bell rang through Connor’s head like a siren wailing in his skull.

Would it be socially inappropriate to hurl in a Salvation Army bucket?

“Detective?” Hank’s voice startled Connor out of his peppermint nightmare. “Your heart rate appears to be abnormally high.” The android informed, LED whirling a bright yellow with the analysis and a small frown beginning to play across his lips. Connor still had no fucking clue how the hell any of that android shit worked.

“Just the cold.” The human dismissed automatically, trying to ignore the lingering look of concern Hank refused to let drift from him. He was supposed to be making this  _ good _ . Not flying into a panic attack in the mall parking lot. Bowl full of jelly and all that jolly shit. 

The detective snapped a hand out to grab Hank’s where it hung still at the robot’s side before his companion could say a word. The human knew full well his android had probably picked up on the white lie with whatever fucky sensors he had packed into that handsome head of his but he was not exactly eager to discuss his inability to deal with the holidays in the parking lot of a minimall with some scrawny dude in a Santa suit shaking a shrill bell in his ear not two steps away today, thank you very much. So, he squeezed Hank’s hand tight and walked into the Peppermint Gates of Hell before anything more could be said.

The machine’s heavy fingers were grounding, anchoring, something to focus on besides Last Christmas blaring through the mall speakers at a volume far too loud to be considered background noise; and Connor found that if he kept his mind on that, he could actually begin to feel the tentative fingers of warmth creeping their way into his chest. So that’s what he did. Rather than look at the Santa Land set up in the middle of the mall, he focused on the rough bump of Hank’s knuckles against his own. Instead of looking at the festive displays in every store front, he brushed his fingertips over the rough patch of the robot’s thumb and forefinger where he could make flames spring to life at his fingertips....

Honestly, it wasn’t too bad.

Eventually, Connor convinced himself to look around, letting his eyes flit over the elaborately decorated storefronts and the people rushing by in their festive clothes a mile a minute, all crowding to get the best deals and buy the biggest gifts. A woman had done her hair up in a huge bouffant and had tied Christmas lights through the hairdo so they sparkled and blinked with every step. That was bound to tangle. A boy that bumped into the detective as he raced by was wearing a brightly colored sweater that played jingle bells every time someone made a loud noise next to him - Which was, in the overcrowded mall, literally all the time. 

Maybe a tinsy bit overwhelmed, the human let his gaze go back to where Hank’s large fingers interlocked with his own smaller ones before letting it trail upwards, eyes slowly travelling up the expanse of the android’s bulky arm to the heavy set of his drawn back shoulder and eventually his rugged face. The beginnings of wrinkles were sculpted into strong cheeks and a trimmed beard covered a harsh jawline but both were drawn up in the light beginnings of a smile, true and heart stopping. Silver hair was pulled back in a short, tight pony tail to show a luminescent LED flickering and glowing in the bright lights of the shopping center. It was blue.

Connor loved when that circle of light was blue.

Blue alike were Hank’s eyes and they glowed with keen interest as the roved around the  decorated storefronts, constantly moving to take in the new stimuli - Probably compiling it into some sort of crisp data he’d try to sort and rationalize later. That seemed like the type of thing Hank would try to do and Connor found himself smiling as he imagined the android’s bafflement when he discovered he couldn’t quantify the moment.

Those are the moments when you’re truly alive.

Connor felt the beginning of a smile creep along his own lips as he took in the sight and his fingers tightened around the android’s hand the slightest bit, letting his arm swing a bit to drag Hank’s hand along with him. The human’s wandering eyes scanned over the scene until they finally fell on one of those dollar shops always run by an angry looking fellow who stares at you the whole time you’re in the store - Little did most know; but besides angry men, they always had the best Christmas sweaters. Obscure ones. 

Connor tugged Hank that way, dragging the robot through the crowd and through the doorway to the emptier store, breaking free of the masses the moment they passed under the “ollar Dealz” sign shining a dull red beside a burnt out D that had once been part of the title. The store was small and had a musty sort of scent lingering in the stale air that sat dryly in the back of the human’s throat and scratched a rough cough from his lips; but hey, at least they weren't playing Jingle Bells.

The customary angry gun behind the counter said nothing as they entered but fixed his intense eyes on them nevertheless, heavy eyebrows furrowing into dark eyes as his thick lips twisted into a frown and his heavy arms came to set over his chest. The flowing sharpie scrawl on his name tag read, “How can I help you?” but everything about is body language said “Touch anything and I will break you, twig.”

“Don’t make eye contact with the wildlife, Hank.” Connor hissed quietly, stretching up on his toes to whisper the words into the android’s ear even as the HK800 leaned down to hear him. “They take it as a threat to their dominance.” He joked, keeping his eye on Broody McStareDown as he led the android farther back into the store. If only a basic blondie would come overreact and call her ex like in the movies, maybe he could find love and stop scaring away any customer with a scrap of self-preservation.

The android gave a small, chopped huff of air that seemed to catch in his throat like it wasn’t supposed to exist and Connor practically preened. Hank’s laugh wasn’t the most natural thing in the world by any measure; but it was certainly one of the  _ realest,  _ and the human basked in the glow of being the one responsible for it. 

Walking past half empty shelves full of cheap perfume that all smelled the same and obscure cooking utensils no one would ever actually have use for, the pair quickly came to the back of the small store and there Shangrila awaited. The entire back wall of the place had been converted into a Christmas sweater orgy. Turtle necks, cropped tops, ones that blinked and ones that sung, fabric covered in garland and glitter alike,  _ sarcastic phrases _ . They had it all. 

Connor darted forward and began snagging one of everything off the multi colored plastic hangers, slinging soft, woolen fabric over his arm until the amassing mountain of festive monstrosity almost became too heavy to hold. He persisted nevertheless, however, though he realized that, while his smaller size was relatively easy to find 27 of, trying to find something in bright red and green that would fit Hank’s beefy big toe was a whole other matter. He wanted to be that cringy couple that wore horrendous matching sweaters - So this hangup really limited his options, cutting his initial estimate of 38 sweaters to try on down to about 4.

“Okay, Robocop, I think this should get us started.” Connor finally relented, taking a step back to evaluate the small collection slung over his arm with a critical eye, squinting abrasively at the material. Satisfied, the human glanced up and scanned the wall for any sign of a dressing room along the white paint walls of the store, gazing through hodgepodge messes of accessories and gaudy costume jewelry slung over every surface before his gaze finally caught a black sign with the words “Dressing Room” printed across in a dull, blocky white. Straight forward enough.

“Get us started?” Hank balked incredulously, blue eyes going wide and LED picking up to swirl a startled yellow but Connor gave him no time to protest before snapping his fingers around the android’s wrist him and hauling him towards the changing room.

With one arm weighed down under a precarious pile of sweaters and his other hand occupied with Hank’s wrist, obviously the only logical course of action was for Connor to bring his foot up to open the door. The detective’s lithe body leaned back as he struggled to keep his balance and press the sole of his shoe into the brass handle, rolling his leg enough to turn the thing and torso twisting like a wet rag with the action. 

The knob reluctantly turned under the pressure of his shoe and the sound of the steel mechanism within working clicked into existence, the soft, metallic chunk the only sound in the empty store Broody McStareDown had scared everybody out of. Apparently, however, the door swung in, not out as Connor had anticipated, and the human’s leg went lurching forward with the rest of the barrier the moment the knob was turned, sending him flying into the room and nearly sending his Christmas sweaters sprawling all over the floor. 

A startled yelp split from the detective’s lips as his foot hit nothing but air and sent him pitching forward but the falling limb hit ground quickly and; despite the sharp pain the whole ordeal sent speaking through Connor’s knee, he managed to keep both him and the Christmas sweaters upright in one piece. The human hastily righted himself with a huff that was more embarrassed than anything, eager to move on and pretend the whole last five minutes of his life never happened.

A warm huff of a laugh chuckling from behind him assured him that option was not on the table. 

Fucking androids and their endless memory storage.

“Shut up and try on your sweaters!” Connor scoffed huffily, cheeks still hot with a flustered flush as he grabbed a random sweater off the top of the pile and thrust it into the android’s hands, soft material whooshing through the air as he half shoved, half threw the thing at his companion.

Hank said nothing but the smug smile crawling up his mechanical lips sent the message loud enough, stormy eyes crinkling just at the corners in pleased wrinkles that shouldn’t make Connor’s heart flutter so much every time he saw them. 

The human whipped back around to focus his attention on the pile of clothes, not his mechanical boyfriend’s infuriatingly handsome face, letting his gaze flit over the bright green of a sweater designed to look like a tree, complete with ruffling garland and actual glass ornaments stitched into it. His reflection stretched oddly in the bright red spheres of the decorations as Connor leaned forward to pluck the thing up, his mirror image’s nose bulging and his eyes stretched to the sides of his head but he never got so far as trying it on when Hank interjected.

“Um, Connor?” The android’s voice interrupted slowly, confusion and humor alike melted into the low graveling tones Connor swore reverberated through his very bones every time Hank opened his mouth.

“Too flashy?” Connor guessed instantly, though he himself didn’t believe in such a ludicrous phrase. However, when the human turned his gaze back around to his companion he found this was not exactly the problem… 

Except, he had no idea what the problem was when all his one track mind could comprehend was:  _ Big Chest. _

Hank and his super robot speed had somehow gotten both his overcoat and shirt off in the time it had taken Connor to pick a sweater and now stood there in all his massive, broad,  _ sexy _ glory. Bulging pecs stretched across the machine’s chest, giving way to muscled shoulder sculpted with prominent tendons that stretched and pulled with each fluid motion. An exquisitely pronounced six pack trailed down into chiseled V-lines until they too disappeared under the waistline of Hank’s pants, where in turn a thin line of silvery hair crawled up out of it until it brushed across his naval, perfectly designed to draw the eyes down with it until you couldn’t help but want to follow it. Because, of course, why wouldn’t you put a happy trail on your robot?

Cyberlife were a bunch of perverts. A bunch of perverts who spent way too long on Connor’s Grindr account.

Yet Connor felt he owed a part of his life to whatever sicko sat there and designed a fucking happy trail for a police robot. Thank you, mysterious sicko. You’re not the hero we deserve, but you’re the one we need.

“Connor.” Hank repeated again, voice unimpressed and expression deadpan as he blinked flatly at the human who only then recalled that he’d turned this way for a reason other than to ogle the hot hunk of sex standing before him. The android held up the sweater his companion had thrust into his hands, tugging both sleeves to reveal its total length in the fullest. The sweater looked like a doll’s clothes in the HK800’s massive paws, barely falling down to conceal his pecs where he held it up with a look dry enough to give the Sahara Desert a run for its money. 

Connor would realize all that once his brain rebooted from witnessing the synthetic veins in Hank’s muscled arms tense with the sarcastic action.

Human Rebooting in: 5..4..3..2…

“Oh, sorry.” Connor laughed lightly, trying to ignore the words caught in his throat and the flaming heat he felt rush to his cheeks from more than embarrassment alone this time as he plucked his own sweater from Hank’s hands and tossed it back onto the pile. Turning, he grabbed the next sweater off and actually held it up to make sure it wouldn’t rip at the seams the moment Hank tried to slide it over his bulky shoulders this time before passing it over, holding it out for the android to take.

The machine reached forward as if to take the offered shirt but the moment his fingers brushed the material they slid right past to slink their way around Connor’s slender wrist instead, easily curling around the smaller man’s arm and tugging him forward. 

Connor startled a bit at the unexpected action but had no problem letting himself be pulled toward the robot, blushing smile creeping across his lips as his lithe body was drug into Hank’s solid one. Thick, unyielding bulk pressed hard under the human’s lean from as he brought a hand up to press against the android’s firm chest, letting just the tips of his long fingers trail over the tense curve of the machine’s fabricated muscle and relishing the sensation. Hank was warm but not in the way a human was, his fabricated skin too hot to the touch to ever be mistaken for anything other than man made as machinery constantly whirled beneath the surface, metal grinding against metal just out of sight under Connor’s fingertips. If the human focused, he swore he could almost feel the thrum of electricity and technology under his fingertips.

Hank was metal and coding packed into a plastic casing. Wires, electricity, machinery. Yet, in every gentle touch, in every lingering look, in every brush of lips against lips.. He was  _ alive _ .

“Like what you see, Detective?” The android asked, a distinctive teasing draw threading through his baritone voice that went straight through Connor’s chest with a powerful rumble. A knowing smirk of a smile crept across the machine’s lips as he gazed down at the shorter man, blue eyes sharp and pinning in a way that made the human want to squirm under their intense stare and let them swallow him whole all in the same moment. The stirring sensation was only highlighted by the weighty press of Hank’s hands where they’d found their way to Connor’s waist at some point the human hadn’t quite caught, huge and heavy against his hips where they rested against the angular bones jutting out there.

“I’m sure you have a thousand sensors answering that question for you.” Connor jibed snarkily, words spilling out around a teasing smile drawing up the corner of his own lips as he let his fingers trail over the fabricated muscle. After a long, uncertain, moment the human let himself react to Hank’s touch, tentatively giving in to the need to arch his hips into the robot’s strong hands where they rested at his waist, a searing blaze where synthetic met real that sparked something in his stomach he was usually so quick to smother out he’d almost forgotten it existed.

Connor usually didn’t give in to any of his body’s quiet desires, a nagging voice in the back of his head insisting that it was  _ wrong _ every time his dick even so much as gave a stir. Suffocating guilt and mind numbing panic were usually not the biggest turn-ons. It was a whole can of worms he’d rather not open but… He trusted Hank. 

Enough to release a small breath that nearly bordered on a quiet moan when the android’s thumb brushed under the loose material of his shirt, a dark hoodie he’d had on for his supposed day off and hadn’t bothered to change for going out. The thing was old, its once soft material now baggy and worn, so Hank’s hands slipped under it easy enough, pushing back the bulky fabric the slightest bit to run his fingertip along the inch of pale skin he’d exposed.

The course drag of his digits drew a small shiver from the human, nails scratching lightly against Hank’s chest as he tried to hold back what wanted to be a pathetic mewl but ended a strangled noise as he dug his teeth into his lower lip. That was another thing about not trusting anything anywhere near your skin with a (to stay in season) thirty nine and half foot pole… It tended to leave you a little touch-starved. 

However, as much as Connor wanted to keep Hank’s hands on him forever, the slight lift of his shirt brought a teeny, weensy little problem he’d overlooked to his attention. He was in a changing room, where you were supposed to, you know, undress. As in, take off his shirt. 

As in, expose his ugly scars and ruined body to the absolute Eros before him.

Connor felt his own body tense at the notion before he could stop it, going stiff and rigid under Hank’s hands as his heart picked up a nervous stutter that slammed rudely against his chest like a pointed finger jabbing him under the ribs time and again. 

Hank picked up on the switch nearly instantly, LED flashing a sharp yellow and hands snapping off his companion's hips as he instantly tried to draw back and give the human his space but they were already nearly up against the wall and the robot had little room to go. Good, Connor didn’t want him to back up.

“ ‘S not that.” Connor assured hastily, reaching up to gather Hank’s hands from where they hovered awkwardly in the air just above his waist and press them gently back against his hips. The detective let his hands linger over Hank’s until the machine slowly seemed to relax again, his LED still cycling slowly but his wide frame less rigid and his heavy fingers cautiously wrapping around the human’s slender waist once more.

“Detective, if I’m making you uncomfortable-” Hank tried to begin but Connor wasn't having any of that and leaned up on his toes to press his mouth firmly against the android’s to smother out the rest of his speech, the words echoing over his lips until the android’s processing caught up with real time events and let the thought die on his tongue.

“It’s not… that.” Connor insisted resolutely when he finally drew back, hoping the repetition would get it through Hank’s plastic chassis and into his wired brain as the words halted over his lips.

Hank’s shifting gaze caught his attention and the human followed it down to where it his own hands had apparently begun unconsciously tugging at the hem of his shirt, twisting round the material and digging dull nails into the weathered fabric, the fucking traitors. Clarity flickered through the android’s gaze and the LED at his temple flashed a bright yellow before it slowly cycled into a calm blue and a look of understanding settled over the android’s gruff features, face softening as he drew his stormy eyes back up to meet the detective’s.

Connor waited, knowing Hank would probably offer to turn away or leave the room.

“I want to see.” The android decided, low voice soft but certain. His eyes locked unwaveringly with Connor’s as the detective’s own orbs widened at the unexpected declaration, fixed intently on the human’s with not a flicker of doubt discernable across his grizzled face.

A thick lump formed in the back of Connor’s throat that refused to relent no matter how many times he tried to swallow it back, his breath catching around an intrusion that didn’t exist and every ounce of oxygen he’d ever inhaled vacuuming straight out of his lungs to leave him suffocating on the spot. Hank was wrong here, he did  _ not  _ want to see. The scars from the wreck were one thing, damage that wasn’t his fault (Or, so his android resolutely insisted) but his actual body was a whole nother story. 

Gaunt far past the point of unattractiveness, he dipped in all the wrong places and bones jutted against paper skin to stretch and pull in ways that were anything but good looking. It wasn’t that he wasn’t eating. Not anymore at least. Sure, there were still days when everything just tasted overwhelming on his tongue and the very thought of eating made him want to spew the entirety of his stomach's contents onto the kitchen floor but those were becoming rarer. With Hank’s gentle insistence and constant, reassuring encouragement he was doing… Better. 

_ He was doing better. _

But that didn’t make the years worth of damage his self destruction had inflicted just disappear. No half assing here, buddy: He’d fucking ruined himself. 

“Hank, baby...” Connor insisted softly, bringing his hands up off his jacket to place them against the android’s face, fingertips brushing gently over fabricated cheekbones and tangling into synthetic beard hair, the sensation coarse and harsh but grounding in its rough drag under his fingers.

“You seem to be under the impression I would find you undesirable.” Hank interjected before Connor could say.. Well, exactly that but, you know, not so damn blunt. The android’s face was contorted into a displeased half frown, lips twisted unhappily and thick eyebrows furrowed; but his storm cloud eyes blazed with steadfast determination, searing through the blue orbs like fire racing across a trail of gasoline. “Your concern is unwarranted.” The robot continued before Connor could so much as speak a word, mouth falling open only to reluctantly snap shut without so much as a syllable to his defense. 

“I really don’t think it is.” Connor managed to get out in a muttered huff but Hank blundered onward as if the detective hadn’t said a word, the protest only seaming to pour fuel on the flames.

“I will always find you desirable, Connor.” Hank insisted steadily, the surety of his voice and the weight of his words dragging the argument that had been resting on the tip of Connor’s tongue to the gallows. “Every part of you.” The robot assured, certainty ringing clear through his voice and shuddering way down deep into the human’s core as the android’s hands slowly returned to their gentle assault, creeping carefully under the bulky material of Connor’s hoodie and pushing it up as they went. 

A paranoid voice in the back of Connor’s mind screamed that Hank was wrong, wrong, _ wrong  _ about this but he did his best to smother it out and focus on how the android’s hands felt over his skin instead. Rough fingertips ran along sensitive flesh and over neglected skin, drawing a small noise that couldn’t really be given a name from the detective’s lips and sending a full body shudder wracking over his lithe frame. The cold air hit his stomach as Hank pushed the heavy material father up, pulling it past his hips and up over his belly button to send chills running along his flesh as an untraceable breeze pressed fluttering kisses along his naval.

Huge palms ran steadily over the the sides of Connor’s scrawny stomach where it sloped in to meet his ribs, heavy and reassuring in their constant pressure and sending warm tingles rushing across chilled skin wherever they touched. Connor bit his lip to muffle the embarrassingly pathetic whine that tried to slip through as his touch-starved body jerked under Hank’s hands but his gouging teeth did little to stop the noise from crawling up this throat. The android’s touch was so much and yet not enough all at once and his torso arched into the gentle caress, neglected flesh tormented with the aching want to just  _ feel _ .

“Oh, Connor,” Hank whispered softly, voice lower than a robot’s should ever be allowed to be as he drug the hoodie up until it pulled the human’s shoulders with it and the detective’s slender arms tugged up above his head.

The human’s world was swamped in darkness as the tarnished cloth came up over his eyes and blocked his sight for a moment, smushing against his nose and musing his hair with a static prickle that was sure to mean his curls would be sticking straight up when the shirt was finally pulled away. Connor braced himself, tensed waiting for the moment his sight returned and all he saw was the unavoidable disgust painted across his android’s face, inevitable and wholeheartedly earned but nothing he wanted to face nevertheless. 

However, light came flooding back into Connor’s eyes and stomach twisting anticipation gave way to something else entirely…

Hank gazed down at the human’s body like it was something worth looking at, stormy eyes fixed and awed as big hands tossed the forgotten hoodie aside in favor of pressing his heavy palms tentatively against the detective’s chest. Every press of his fingers was a grounding weight keeping Connor captured in the moment, synthetic skin retreating to let blazingly white plastic rest over pale scars that had long since healed but whose mark would forever mar Connor’s body and mind alike.

The jagged lines dealt by the crash webbed across his skin like a tapestry of disaster, stitching across him like someone had tried to put him back together looking through a kaleidoscope. Abrasive lines held no semblance of order, splintering over his flesh like a broken mirror whose pieces never quite lined up again to ruin the reflection on the other side. They’d shoved his organs back in wherever they could scoop them, gouged insides scraped back into the walls of his body through sheer power of medicine and science alone. A feat that would have been impossible not twenty years ago and left him bleeding out on the gunny.

In a way, he and Hank were both wonders of technology.

“Beautiful.” Hank graveled, voice low and reverent as he leaned forward to let the barest brush of his lips dust Connor’s trembling stomach, just over a gash that tore from the bottom of his ribs all the way across his skin until it met his waist. 

Connor sucked in a breath. His eyes fixed to that telltale LED, waiting for the moment it went yellow and proved Hank’s words a lie.

It was blue. Blue.  _ Blue. _


	3. Office Party

The following evening, walking into the precinct with his light up sweater blinking out “Kiss me under the mistletoe” in alternating green and red LEDs across the chest and a spring of actual, prickly mistletoe stitched to the knitted hem so it fell just above his waist, Connor felt better than he had in awhile. Especially with Hank at his side in his own matching shirt, black thread with the simple word “DON’T” cross stitched into it in bold, abrasive, capital letters right across his accentuated biceps were the unfortunate threads stretched tight against the broad muscles and clung to each other for dear life.

The detective hadn’t been to a station Christmas party in years; but stepping into the DPD that Christmas Eve, the forgotten memories swept back to him in a warm flood, seeping into his veins to ward off the chill of the season and bring the beginnings of a smile to his face. Multicolored Christmas lights hung from the ceiling in heavy drapes and trimmed the edges of the office space to blink to a bright, joyous rhythm no one could hear, casting the whole room in their welcoming glow. A large, shimmering glass bowl filled to the brim sat atop one of the cleared desks in the middle of the room, the liquid inside snow white and too thick to see through, heavy and flat so it looked more like an ice rink had been poured into the bowl than an actual drink. Red, flowing ribbon hung from the desk but whoever had been charge of shouldn’t have been as every drape was a different length than the rest and they’d rationed it wrong so the cloth only stretched to cover half of the table. 

The rest of the station’s employment wandered around the area slowly, just having come off the clock and not really settled into the swing of the festivities yet most likely. Amanda was still there even, visible through the clear glass walls of her office where she could be seen gathering up her bag in preparation to head home for the evening. 

Part of Connor wished he were preparing to head home for the evening too, wanting nothing more than to just curl on his couch against his android’s side and flick on some crappy Christmas drama; but a stronger, more determined, part of him insisted that Hank deserved a better Christmas Eve than that. So, here he was. 

“Yo, Connor, you actually came!” Chris’s familiar voice met the detective’s ears and he turned to see his friend coming toward them, broad smile set against surprised eyes. The man was wearing a simple red sweater with white cross stitch deer prancing around the hem, an inadequate choice beside Connor and Hank’s own amazing attire if you asked the human in question. 

“I thought you said you had something to do?” Chris asked chipperly when he drew to a halt just in front of the pair, completely oblivious to the fact that he’d just blown Connor’s cover as the detective felt the undeniable sensation of Hank’s familiar  _ is that so?  _ eyes settle onto him, knowing they were gouging into his head without having to turn and see. Thank you, Chris. 

“Yeah, well, it…” Connor began haltingly, carefully keeping his eyes on Chris and not Hank’s demanding orbs boring into the back of his skull like a drill from the advanced medical techniques of olden times. “Got cancelled.” The human settled on stiffly, trying not to inwardly groan at how stupidly unbelieve it sounded to even in his own ears.

“Well, I’m glad you changed your mind.” Chris blew right past the pathetic excuse with a warm smile, not even bothering to pretended he believed it for a moment. The detective would be lying if he said he didn’t appreciate the realness the man kept with him, never once dancing around his flimsy excuses or paper thin lies in all the years he’d known the officer.

“Me too.” Connor lied flatly, letting his eyes flit around the room to try and convince himself of his own words as Chris chuckled warmly and slammed his hand companionably into the detective’s back, nearly sending the lithe male stumbling. It wasn’t  _ awful,  _ just not exactly the first place he’d choose to be.

“Well, I better restock the coffee pot.” Chris dismissed himself prettily quickly after that, an awkward chuckle chasing his words that added nothing to their believability as he all but bolted the scene, face twisted into a stiff smile.

Connor was willing to wager a guess it had a whole lot more to do with the foreboding look he could still feel tearing through the back of his head than any actual coffee.

“Detective,” Hank began slowly the moment Chris was gone, gravelly voice softer than Connor had anticipated. “If you didn’t want to come-” The android tried to explain, LED pulsing a slow yellow and blue eyes confused as Connor forced himself to turn and look at his companion rather than at the floor as he would so like to. The unabashed concern painting the robot’s expression made the human weak in the knees, a swelling bubble of guilt and conflict building up inside him as he struggled to find something to say and found nothing but sand filling his throat, rough and grating as he swallowed around words that didn’t exist.

It was only a sudden, “Detective Anderson, can I see you in my office?” from across the room that saved him, the words cutting Hank off mid sentence and bringing the conversation to an abrupt end. 

Of course,  _ saved _ was a relative term.

“Coming, Captain.” Connor called back shortly, voice clipped and catching in his throat as he forced himself into motion towards the glass office, Hank on his heels. 

Amanda was leaning out of her door, red painted nails holding it open for the detective as she pulled back so her body straightened and dark eyes fixed on the man, watching, waiting. Her hair was done up as usual and her professional dress was draped over with a scarlet one shoulder shaw for the season, the rich material silken and shining in the flashy lights hanging above her door. Her cold orbs narrowed as the pair approached and a frown pulled at her red painted lips, displeasure radiating off her like a tangible aura. 

Connor nearly drew back at the harsh displeasure out of instinct; but he found himself pushing it aside easier than before now. He… Didn't need her approval. Nor her praise.

“Just Detective Anderson, please.” The woman corrected dryly, a flat look painted across her stern features as she staring pointedly at the android who’d followed his partner.

Connor’s stomach gave an uncomfortable twinge but he caught the unsettled yellow of his android’s LED out of the corner of his eyes and ignored the sensation in favor of pressing a reassuring smile in the machine’s direction as he made sure his legs didn’t falter.

Hank still looked unconvinced, LED a solid yellow and lips set in a minute frown as he stilled and watched the human take to the small flight of stairs but there was nothing much Connor could do other than stretch his lips a little farther in the stiff grin that felt flat on his face and give the robot a small wave. No wonder the android didn’t look pleased, even Connor could feel how unconvincing the expression sat on his face.

The detective reluctantly let his gaze shift from Hank as he slid past where Amanda still held the glass door open and into the room beyond, eyes flicking about to take in the sterile place in its dull grays and cold whites. In terms of decoration, the captain had switched her usual rose out for a poinsettia that leaned against the side of the small, blue vase perched at the edge of her desk, the red flower blossoming out brightly against the blank room. How festive.

“You wanted to see me?” The man prompted evenly, turning back around to meet the eyes of the woman still standing by the door, the thing falling shut behind her as she let her hand draw back to her side.

Amanda nodded slowly, bringing her arms in front of her to clasp one wrist over where her other hand held her purse, painted nails curling neatly over the dark strap of the sensible thing. “Connor,” She began steadily, voice oddly careful. “I don’t want you to come in tomorrow.” She finally went on and Connor’s stomach went for gold in gymnastics. 

She was  _ firing  _ him? What had he done? His case quota was doing fine. He hadn’t been late once. Hell, for some reason, Gavin hadn't even gotten into a fight with him recently.

Something in his face must’ve alerted Amanda to the roller coaster his guts had abruptly turned into because realization suddenly sparked through her eyes and a moment later a warm chuckle broke her lips, leaving the man confused as all hell. “I’m not firing you!” The captain assured hastily, eyes glimmering with amusement as Connor merely stared on in utter bewilderment.

Then he understood and his stomach started up the ride again. “I always take holiday shift!” The detective protested instantly, voice coming out sharper than he’d intended once he understood what he was being told. 

“I know; but this year, you’ll be taking off.” Amanda replied evenly, voice steady and certain and face set hard, leaving no room for debate.

“Amanda,” Connor tried insistently, fingers tightening at his side until his knuckles turned white with the strain of it. “I don’t want…” He began but trailed off halfway through. He didn’t want what? 

He didn’t want to go home. He didn’t want to see his dark, empty house. He didn’t want to be  _ alone. _

The detective's gaze trailed away from the police captain, looking past her and into the room beyond where Hank had stood at the edge of the crowd, engaged in some awkward looking small talk with Chris but quite obviously lingering nearest the glass office he could get. This year he wasn’t… 

“Stay home, Connor.” Amanda’s voice drew the detective’s attention back to the room and he turned to see her gaze following his, subdued smile playing at her lips. “Spend Christmas how it’s meant to be spent, with people who love you.” 

_ He wasn’t alone. _


	4. Party Problems

“Hank, can you taste?” Connor asked after slamming back a fourth cup of eggnog, swallowing thickly around the heavy liquid as it drug down his throat like some kinda kinky octopus monster in a bad hentai. A vague sensation of warmth sunk into his chest and flowed out into his veins until it flushed through his blood and tingled in the very tips of his fingers, spreading ever on until it seemed to breath its heated caress into his mind itself and smother his thoughts in a loving embrace.

“I cannot necessarily taste as such, not in the way humans can.” The android answered after a moment of consideration, LED cycling a slow yellow as he seemed to ponder the question. “My oral analysis equipment can, however, gather data on any substance it comes in contact with and the information can be processed in a way that might resemble the experience you refer to.” Hank continued evenly, his voice keying down to something droning and monotone like he was reading the words straight out of a Bear Bot Maintenance Manual.

And, yeah, Connor didn’t get a word of that.

“Can you taste this, Robocop?” The human drawled in a low whisper, reaching forward and twisting his long fingers into the soft fabric of his partner’s sweater, burying slender digits in the dark folds and pulling the android forward by the collar. He slammed his mouth into Hank’s sloppily, lips pressing over the machine’s and tongue slipping between his lips before the robot had even so much as parted his own lips. 

Eventually his companion caught up with the program though and let his mouth fall open against Connor’s, bringing a big hand up to press warmly against the human’s cheek where the rough pad of his thumb ran along the arch of the detective's cheekbone in a soothing stroke that only encouraged the younger man to press harder. Tongue between the HK800’s teeth, lithe body pressing in close to his companion’s to feel hard, synthetic muscle under his hands as he brought them up to run his fingers over the android’s chest, Connor wanted everything Hank would give him. 

However, Hank pulled back far sooner than Connor would have liked, the android’s LED cycling a quick, flashing yellow and his eyes wide with something that almost resembled worry. “Detective, I feel the need to warn you-” The mechanical man tried to begin but he made it no farther when he was rudely cut off by the arrival of an unexpected and franky unwanted third party.

“Connor!” Gavin Reed’s rough voice abruptly cut in and the man broke free of the small crowd to walk toward them, his gait oddly uneven and his body stumbling to the side before he finally came to stand before the pair. “Connor!” He reiterated as if he’d forgotten he’d already said it, clapping a heavy hand down on the detective's shoulder and leaning in so the strands of his slicked back hair that had broken free of his excessive hair gel fell into his face.

“Gavin.” Connor replied for lack of anything better to say, staring blankly at the man who currently leaned in far closer that the detective would like him too. Ever.

“Connor, remember that Christmas?” Gavin all but slurred, his words jamming together into one long breath before he fell into a fit of snorting laughter, apparently listening to some great joke only he could hear. 

“I don’t even remember how you started this conversation.” Connor admitted after a thoughtful moment, squinting at the man and trying to recall him walking up. Maybe Gavin had been here all along? He had no clue.

“Yess, you do!” Reed insisted in an exasperated huff, rolling his dark eyes annoyedly towards the ceiling. “The one in the bar!” The man elaborated, entirely unhelpfully. Connor remembered a lot of Christmas’ in bars with Gavin - and Chris too. Back before Amanda started playing favorites and their tight little trio dissolved into muted amiability and spitting antagonism respectively, that was, of course.

He didn’t like being drunk. The feeling of not having control, of being vulnerable to those around him, made his skin crawl to even think about. But his friends had always looked forward to the tradition and he trusted Gavin and Chris to make sure nothing happened to him so he’d gone along with it. The late hours in dingy bars, laughing about something he couldn’t remember, were, admittedly, one of the better holiday memories he had when he thought about it.

Gavin huffed exasperatedly at Connor’s lack of understanding and grabbed the boy by the sleeve, hauling him along before the detective could so much as protest. The fibrous threads of Connor’s festive sweater groaned forebodingly under Reed’s hold but the officer only drug his ex-friend a little ways before releasing him once more in favor of gripping the edge of a desk, stout fingers curling over the empty surface and pressing down hard as he began to drag his body up after them.

Oh,  _ that  _ Christmas.

Gavin drew up a knee onto the desk and pushed up with the butts of his hands until he stood his full height atop the empty surface, wavering on the spot. His slicked back hair fell into his dark eyes as he turned back to cast his waiting gaze upon the detective still standing just beside the desk, sloppy grin splattering across his face and scrunching his scarred nose.

_ Oh, what the hell?  _ Connor vaguely thought with a shrug and slammed his hands down on the desk after his coworker, palms pressing into the cool table top and fingers curling under his own hands as he braced his weight against his arms. The detective leaned forward, face pressing against the desk to let the cold rush reach its chilly fingers over his cheek as he scrambled his long gazelle legs up after himself and tried to find room to pull himself up without putting his face straight into Gavin’s shoes, which currently took up 90% of his vision.

Thick fingers twisting in the back of his sweater hauled him up roughly and he struggled to find bearing, his feet refusing to stay under himself and his knees trying to buckle uncooperatively under his weight. However, he got himself standing somehow or other; and nearly the moment he had, the first, long chords of the familiar melody met his ear. A quick glance at Chris revealed he was in charge of the music. Chris, who Connor was one hundred per-fucking-cent certain still had a video of the last time they’d done this no matter how much he and Gavin had pleaded with him to delete it the next morning. 

“I don’t want a lot for Chirstmaaasss!” Connor drew out slow, voice warbelling horrendously over the first line as Mariah Carey’s familiar tones hit the first note. “There is just one thing I need!” He scratched sloppily but hey, at least it sounded a bit better than Gavin’s scratch record voice at his side, sounding like someone had stuffed a poor cat in a blender and turned the bitch on mince. 

“I don’t care about the presents, underneath the Christmas tree!” Connor all but yowled, trying to make his voice dip low but only ending up lowering his actual body, bending slightly and nearly stumbling with the effort. A few people cheered, most laughed, Tina Chen snorted some crude from of encouragement the detective couldn’t quite make out.

“I just want you for my own!” Gavin scrapped harshly, voice raising to a heavy metal scream. “More than you could ever know!” The man cried noisily, raising an arm up high above his head and leaning heavily into Connor who nearly sent them both toppling as he sagged under Reed’s weight.

“Make my wish come truuueee!” They both managed to harmonize in a vaguely similar key but then Connor’s voice raised to a high pitched wail to match Mariah’s that Gavin could never dream to hit as the note dragged on. 

“Baby, all I want for Christmas is youuuu!!” Connor cracked giddily, giving a tiny shimmy that was supposed to be the beginning of an alluring dance move as he found Hank’s - horrified - eyes in the crowd and tried to draw his hand down from above him in a slow point. However, he must’ve been leaning with the motion far farther than he thought because his whole body started to tilt, the floor quickly becoming the ceiling as his balance faltered and his body took up a side job as the Leaning Tower of Pisa.

Hank seemed to realize this where he stood at the edge of the gathered crowd, blue eyes widening and face twisting into a concerned grimace as he tried to push forward through the people gathered there. However, Tina accidentally stumbled in front of the android with a tipsy sounding snort, effectively blocking his path - And that was the last thing Connor actually saw that wasn’t the floor. 

White tile flying up to greet him, the detective nose dived straight from his place high and mighty atop the desk face first into the ground below. His nose slammed into the hard floor underfoot unhindered, hands flailing to try and catch himself but ultimately failing in their task as his legs cartwheeled after the rest of him a moment later to leave him a heap on the floor. A low groan moaned from between his lips as he hit and with it brought a realization…

Someone had spiked the eggnog. He could smell it on his own damn breath. 

Of course someone has spiked the eggnog, it was the stanion Christmas party! Probably Gavin. Could’ve been Tina… Connor just hadn’t been to one of these in so long the unofficial tradition had all but slipped his mind. He really should’ve realized this sooner. Probably when he’d noticed Hank was looking  _ particularly  _ good this evening; but he’d just blamed it on the Christmas lights shining in the android’s eyes. He definitely should’ve realized it when he decided karaoke with Gavin Reed was a good idea.

He hated being drunk. The feeling of not having control. Being vulnerable to the people around him-

_ Get ahold of it! _ Connor hissed at his reeling mind, determination furrowing his eyebrows and drawing his lower lip between his teeth as he tried to account for all his limbs and get control of the unruly things once more. He pulled his legs up under his body and found his arms once more, drawing them under his chest to press the butts of his palms into the tile and push himself up with them. His slender arms shook unsteadily under his weight as he drug his chest off the ground but he didn’t stop to steady himself, already too close to a panic he didn’t want to have to waste anymore time on the floor. 

He wanted to cover every piece of skin he possibly could yet he was suffocating, smothered by thin air and gagging on nothing. Connor ignored the choking feeling, instead focusing on trying to get his legs under himself but they were anything but cooperative, refusing to do as he told them and noncompliant when he told himself to stand. He couldn’t move.  _ He couldn’t move _ .

The detective silenced the thought before it could go on, pushing away the swelling feeling building just on the edge of his mind to focus on focing his legs to do what he wanted. It worked, for the most part. With some struggle he got himself upright but it seemed to be staying that way that was determined to be the problem, his lithe body swaying on a breeze that wasn’t there and tilting precariously with every attempt to restraighten himself. Connor took a single, stumbling step forward and felt his body take the dive once more, groaning as he watched the floor rush up to greet him and prepared for impact. However, the hit never came.

But that didn’t matter because  _ someone’s hand was wrapped around his arm _ .

Connor had never twisted so violently before in his life, ripping his arm free of the unwanted hold like he’d been burned by the touch. The action sent him stumbling but he couldn’t think of that right now, the only thing he could think about was hands on him. Dragging him by the arm. Ripping at his clothes. Yanking at his hair.

“God, please, don’t.” Connor managed pathetically as fingertips reached for him again, drawing back as far as he could and hating how weak his own voice sounded in his ears. It wouldn’t work, he knew it wouldn’t.  _ He _ wouldn’t stop. No matter how much Connor begged or pleaded. He wouldn’t stop-

“Detective, I understand you’re perceiving me as a threat right now but-” Familiar, rumbling tones met the human’s ears, weighing on his clouded mind like a fire blanket thrown over roaring flames. Connor’s vision came back into focus, where there were white tiles and office chairs instead of neon lights, and fell on the android where he stood just inches from him, hands hovering in the air between them and face contorted into one of  _ hurt. _

“Hank.” Connor managed and that was about all he managed, heart thundering in his chest as he let his body slump forward until it collided with the robot’s chest, muffling some half formed apology into the thick wool of his companion’s sweater that made no sense in terms of understandable speech but that he hoped his partner got nevertheless. “Hank.” He tried again but still made it no farther, hoping against hope he didn’t make this whole situation worse by hurling all over their new matching sweaters as his stomach made it very clear was a totally feasible option at this point, roiling nastily with alcohol, anxiety, and guilt alike. 

“Let’s get you home, detective.” Hank soothed gently, hands hesitating just above the man before they finally settled, one pressed into his back to keep the human standing while the other brushed comfortingly over the back of his head, tangling through the sweat dampened hair there with long, slow strokes.

“Home.” Connor agreed in a sigh, relaxing into the hands of the only person’s touch he trusted.


	5. Headaches and High Places

The first thing Connor became aware of as he slowly roused into wakefulness was an oppressive pounding thundering through his skull, throbbing just behind his eyes like a battering ram was making war on his retinas. A horrible pain, dull and smothering, swallowed his mind and turned everything to a tormentous, miserable ache that naught but a single coherent thought could fight through to make itself heard. How the hell had he done this in college?

The second thing he became aware of was the feeling of something bulky stuffed straight up his nostrils.

“Henk.” Connor called scratchily, words reluctantly graveling out of a desert dry throat and voice made nasally by the soft plush stuffed up his nose. Still, he was certain the robot would be nearby and naught but a moment later the sound of heavy footsteps confirmed his suspicion, an acute spike of pain shooting through the human’s skull with every step, sharp and agonizing.

“Wha’s in meh nose?” Connor asked stuffily, keeping his eyes squeezed tight shut against the slamming migraine currently having its way with his eyeballs and letting a low groan breathe through his lips as talking only seemed to feed the fire and fuck his brain worse.

“Tissues, Detective.” Hank replied in that wonderfully deep gravel of his, voice close but gratefully lowered to a soft whisper. Connor had never been more thankful for anything in his life; he honestly felt as thought he might sob if someone so much as coughed near him too loud.

A heavy hand came to rest gently atop Connor’s forehead, a warm pressure that took his mind off the dull ache coursing just under the skin and drew his focus instead to the solid, grounding weight. Strong fingertips pressed firmly into the man’s temples, rubbing small circles just at the arch of his brows that eased the throbbing pain under their relentless pressure; but the true relief the action brought was the soothing sense of comfort the caring touch sent trickling into Connor’s veins, warm and welcome.

“You hit your nose hard enough to rupture some minor blood vessels in your nasal lining when you fell off the desk.” Hank’s softened tones explained, low and rumbling so that Connor ended up listening more to his voice than his actual words. He was pretty sure it was just techy-android for “you got a bloody nose when your dumbass decided to go flying off a table.” 

A contented sort of noise hummed between the detective’s lips instead of an actual, intelligible response, starting in his chest and reverberterating through him until it hit his very bones and he felt his body relax. His head still pounded like a nymphomaniac found a whore house just behind his eyes but Hank’s presence dulled the ache and he slowly found the will to let his eyelids crack open, the blaring flood of light bearable if it meant seeing his android.

The lights in the room had been turned off to cast the world a dull gray but the broad daylight resiliently creeping through the slats of the closed blinds still stabbed Connor’s senses like a blade dipped in fire, his head throbbing in protest as he drew his orbs open against his own better judgment. A low groan played on the edge of his lips as he took in the familiar deep burgundy walls of the bedroom and the dark folds of thick blankets tucked neatly around him, nearly an iron weight pressing him down into the mattress as Hank apparently was quite serious about his tucking business and jammed the material under him so tightly it was a wonder Connor was able to move at all. Sumo, his stuffed dog who he definitely did not still seek comfort in, was snuggled tightly under one arm.

And over the man was leaned Hank, silver hair down from its usual tight, tied back style to fall into blue eyes filled with overflowing warmth as the android gazed down at the hungover mess of human being blinking blearily against the low light with bloodied tissues sticking out of both nose holes.

Connor’s heart gave a twist sharper than any throb blasting through his skull.

“One of the main factors that plays into the intensity of a hangover is dehydration.” Hank began speaking before Connor could delve too far into his own thoughts, the android leaning back to grab something off the nightstand.

A cup of water appeared in Connor’s face not two seconds later, sloshing precariously up to kiss the rim of the glass as Hank thrust it forward. The low light gleaming resiliently through the window was captured in the liquid, imprisoned in the wavering prison to be distorted by the water’s merciless hold. The human stared at it for a long moment, eyes traveling up from the cold glass to follow his companion’s arms until he met the android’s loving gaze, fixed on him with not a trace of doubt in their unadulterated affection even as a scrappy tissue fell out of one nostril and flitted down to the sheets below.

A million questions sat just at the tip of Connor’s tongue, sand in his throat and words caught on his lips. Why? Why waste the time? Why on him? Why was someone like Hank - literal, designed perfection - standing here handing a glass of water to a guy who couldn’t even have a few drinks without having a meltdown on the office floor?

All he actually said was a scratchy, “Thank you,” as he pushed himself up against the iron hold of the blankets and took the offered cup carefully in both hands. The water sloshed dangerously, his hangover bringing a slight shake to his pale digits that was only made obvious by the thin liquid reflecting the captured light in all directions and it shifted and refracted the shine in jittering jerks. Connor ignored this, however, and brought the thing to his lips, relishing the cool touch of glass against skin as he rested the rim on his lower lip and tipped the glass back. 

The water was cold, an arctic river rushing over his sore throat and burning over the desert wasteland his body had become, creeping ice fingers into his chest and letting them spread until their cold touch crept into his mind and licked at the searing flames burning there. The first touch of relief slipped in after it, the cool touch blessed rain after a drought, and Connor didn’t hesitate before turning the glass nearly bottom up to drink as much of the godsend liquid as he could, Adam’s Apple throbbing in heavy swallows as his lungs screamed for air he denied them in favor of getting water down his throat.

It helped, abating both the migraine and the self-loathing alike. The human tipped his head back to catch the very last few drops, eyes slipping closed as he let his tongue loll out to shake the cup over top of it with little success before finally bringing the glass back down. His headache ebbing, Connor reopened his eyes to find Hank’s gaze fixed on him, an odd sort of expression that almost resembled something like  _ hunger  _ playing across the android’s mechanical features. Which was odd, Connor was pretty sure Hank didn’t eat - Couldn’t eat. Maybe he’d accidentally been starving his android all this time??

Then the android’s gaze flicked down to the human’s lips and  _ oh. _

Connor gladly placed the cup aside in favor of reaching his hands up cup the robot’s face, fingers tangling into synthetic locks left hanging free as he drug his companion forward and eagerly pressed his lips into Hank’s, reveling in the android’s presence even as some nasty part of him still whispered that he didn’t deserve it. An eager reciprocation was enough to quiet the unwanted thoughts, smothering the tiny, annoying voice under the blissful feeling of the HK800’s tongue prodding at his lips until he parted them and allowed the android to slip the complex piece of machinery between his teeth. 

Fingers still carded through Hank’s hair and thrilling in how realistic it felt under his fingertips, Connor only retreated the slightest bit when he finally pulled back from the morning kiss - Though he was pretty sure it was actually more like noon at this point - so that this real breath mingled with the android’s purely cosmetic huffs of warmed air. The human felt a smile crack out over his lips as he watched a reflection of his own happiness spread over his companion’s robotic features, blue eyes so close Connor swore he could see the sparks behind them as they crinkled just at the edges.  

“Let’s bake the fuck out of some cookies!” Connor encouraged cheekily, pushing back the blankets and swinging his legs over the edge of the bed to grab Hank’s hand and haul him towards the kitchen.

Luckily, since Hank had become a permanent fixture in Connor’s life, the detective’s fridge was constantly packed with all the essentials. Eggs, milk, bread, (Don’t ask him why Hank thought that needed to be refrigerated) you name it. Real, honest to god, groceries; instead of, you know, a half empty container of cool whip sitting on the back shelf from three years ago - Hey, as far as Connor knew, those things didn’t have an expiration date.

So, as it was, there was no need to leave the house and try to find some poor sap stuck working the cash register on Christmas. Connor wrapped his fingers around the handle of the fridge and pulled it open, the chill air from inside misting out in a small steam when it hit the warm air of the indoors. It was those small details that really struck Conor; a full fridge, someone bothering to turn on the thermostat… Hank’s impact on his life was immense in a billion subtle ways.

If he were being entirely truthful with himself, Connor doubted he would've made it to next Christmas had the android not become a part of his life.

Pushing the grim thought away, Connor reached into the refrigerator and pushed aside the loaf of rye bread that had no reason to be in there and plucked up a cardboard carton of eggs in one hand, twisting his body to hold the door open with his foot while he grabbed for the gallon of milk with the other. Long fingers wrapping under the cold handle of the plastic jug, Connor heaved the hefty thing up and pulled out of the chilly box, dragging his body back into the warmth of the room and letting the fridge door swing closed behind him where it slammed shut with a noisy clatter as the bottles of sauces and the sort on the door shelves jostled precariously.

Connor strolled busily across the kitchen to deposit the things he’d gathered on the kitchen table, bare feet quickened by the chill of the frigid tile floor under the unguarded skin of his toes. Hank had likely taken off his shoes and socks when he’d put him into bed but had gone no farther. 

“You should be wearing socks, Detective.” The android in question advised reproachfully as Connor rushed by him on the way to the cabinets, staring pointedly at the human’s bare toes.

Connor opted to ignore the suggestion, skidding to a hasty halt just in front of the counter the cabinet he wanted hovered over and leaning up on tiptoes to try and reach it, the very tips of his long fingers just brushing the edge of the wooden door to end it swinging out. However, as his searching eyes trailed over the newly organized (Was it possible for an android to have OCD?) cabinet where everything that had previously been laying around exactly where he wanted it now packed tightly into neat little rows along the shelves, he made a discovery.

The discovery here being, Hank had put the sugar on the very top shelf. 

Of course he had. 

Connor bit back a groan as he gazed up at the bag far above him, cursing whatever sorry bastard had decided to invent cabinets and hoping that mysterious asshole died alone for all the pain he had caused. With a steeling breath, the woefully height impaired human braced his right hand atop the counter and stretched his torso as much as he could, leaning into the sharp edge of the counter as he reached up with his left arm and flailed blindly, hoping against hope to make contact with a shelf. Of course, he did no such thing. 

Connor huffed perturbedly, muttering some half formed curse under his breath that went something along the lines of  “Fucking, Easter Bunny fucking mother fuckers” as he pushed up on his toes and willed himself to be just a few inches taller. Maybe he should invest in a pair of heels? The man was just about to start scaling the counter itself when a heavy weight suddenly pressed into him from behind, pushing him flush against the counter and keeping him pinned there.

“Looking for something?” A low rumble crooned sweetly in Connor’s ear, hot breath graveling against the detective’s skin to send goosebumps racing down his spine. Solid, unrelenting bulk pressed into the human’s back and ass, keeping him splayed against the unyielding surface of the counter where his hips ended up pinned between Hank and the table as heavy hands came to rest against his waist, their weighty press drawing a small sound from the detective’s parted lips.

“You planned this, didn’t you?” Connor accused hotly, his voice coming out a touch more strained that he would like to admit as a warm chuckle breathed tantalizingly over the sensitive skin of his neck, sending shivers down his back as he tried - and failed - to bite back a small gasp. 

“What are you looking for, Connor?” Hank asked instead of answering the question, leaning in to whisper the words directly behind Connor’s ear and pressing his bulky hips harder into the pinned human in the process, driving the firm weight heavily into the man who could do naught but give an absolutely pathetic whine as his own hips ground into the counter.

“Sugar.” Connor all but mewled, voice humiliatingly keyed up and strained on a breathless whine as he brought a hand up to cover his mouth before anything else embarrassing could crack through his unruly lips. 

That didn’t last very long at all, however, as Hank made a sort of scolding noise and brought a single big hand up off Connor’s hips to wrap around the slender wrist of the hand the human currently had clasped over his own mouth, breath coming in heavy gasps between his fingers. The android drug the limb down, Connor compliant in his commanding hold as he carefully lowered the man’s hand back to the counter where the human’s long fingers curled back over the edge of the thing like they had been before. 

“Hank-” Connor tried to begin but didn’t get very far as the man abruptly pressed into his lithe frame, pushing him into the counter where his needy hips all but ground against the thing, stealing whatever he’d been going to say away on a sharp gasp. That was fine, really. He didn’t know what he was going to say anyway.

The android reached above them to get the sugar, unabashedly pressing Connor’s smaller body flush against the counter and pinning the man under his muscled bulk to draw a poorly bit back moan from the human. It felt so… Strange to try and let himself be aroused again, an anxious, guilty feeling still gnawing at the human’s insides at every warm stir or excited flutter; but with Hank pressing behind him like this, his huge weight and an increasingly notable bulge pressed flush against his ass, it felt  _ good. _

…He felt good.

Hank wouldn’t let anything happen to him. He could let himself feel… Good.

“Here you are, sugar.” Hank chuckled in that deliciously low rumble of his, finally (or was it all too soon?) pulling back to remove his pressing weight from the human who turned around to take the weighty bag, not fully comprehending the movements so much as just going through them.

“That’s…” Connor tried, brain slow to process the joke a the haze of arousal slowly began to clear and his ability to think about something other than how big Hank’s hands felt on his hips trickled back in. “That’s so cheesy.” The human finally managed through a breathless chuckle, placing the bag aside to let his focus rest on the android, the man’s breath still coming out in wavering spurts and his hands shaking slightly.

Hank took both of the man’s shaking hands in his own, rubbing huge thumbs over the top of Connor’s hands to sooth the tremble away as he leaned in to press his lips slowly to the human’s. Careful. Chaste. Loving.

Connor knew he wouldn’t be able to offer the android anything more than little moments like that for a long time in terms of sex and he knew Hank knew it too; but when the android kissed him like this - Like he loved Connor even though the human was broken - he thought, maybe, that could be alright.


	6. Baking Can't be That Hard... Right?

Connor tilted the bag of sugar so the tiny granules rushed out in a steady but controlled stream, squinting into the bowl to try and guesstimate the right amount because really, who needed measuring cups?  The white specks hit the side of the ceramic bowl with a billion noisy  _ plinks  _ that all merged into one quiet rush, like it was raining in his kitchen, before they spread out and turned to a sticky mush where they met the sloshing white milk and the thick, globs of raw egg at the bottom. 

“Hey, Hank, does this look right to those expensive robo-eyes of yours?” The human called, glancing up from the nasty looking paste of sugary goodness to let his eyes fall on the android where he stood a few paces away. The sight that met him, however, turned his words into a unintelligible  _ hgnn. _

Hank, who was supposed to be grabbing flour, had instead decided to become a pornstar. The android had his ponytail holder clasped between his teeth, the small, black band dangling from his lips where they twisted into a concentrated grimace to free up his hands, which were busy pulling his wayward hair up into a tight tail at the back of his head. The muscles of his huge arms tensed with the action as they pulled back over his shoulders to reach his hair, flexing with the work as he gathered his silver strands into a tight first and scooped in any stray threads that dared try to escape his merciless hold. Complete with gray sweatpants that showed off every muscled swell and curve and a dark t-shirt clinging to his chest to stretch over the bulky expanse of broad man; Connor’s kitchen might as well have been the set of Horny Human Twink gets Pounded by Hunky Android Bear.

Hair gathered, the android kept the tail clasped firmly in one hand with an unyielding grip while his other hand reached forward to pluck the dark hair tie from between his teeth, bringing it back to begin stretching it over his thick fingers as he pulled his hair through.  _ God, Connor would love to be stretched like- _ Was he really getting jealous over a hair tie?

“Detective!” Hank abruptly interjected, cutting straight through Connor’s homemade porno with an aghast look splattering across his handsome face, steel shaded eyes wide and mouth falling open in muted horror.

“Huh?” Connor quipped confusedly, cocking his head a bit to the side so that his hair tried to fall in his face and raising one eyebrow curiously at his companion’s odd behavior. However, the sound of hard grains splattering noisily onto the countertop drug his attention down to where his hands still overturned the now considerably lighter sugar bag and the sugar from within overflowed past the edges of the swamped bowl to spill onto the sleek surface of the countertop below.

“Oh shit!” Connor barked harshly, rewriting the bag and slamming it down beside the bowl to cup his hands and beginning scooping what excess sugar he could salvage off the top of the diabetes inducing mountain his bowl of cookie mix had become. Handful after handful he shoved back into the gaping mouth of the paper bag with still no sign of the eggs or milk to show for it… Gordon Ramsay, god rest his gourmet soul, would’ve cried.

“Well, I guess they’ll just be extra sweet.” Connor chuckled slowly as he scraped the final handful he could save off the top of the mess and finally found some damp sugar touched by his other smothered ingredients. For once, he was grateful Hank couldn’t consume anything. Usually, he would feel guilty eating around the android - despite the fact that it was usually said android trying to coaxing him to find subsistence in the first place - but, this time, all he felt was relief that Hank wouldn't have to suffer through this carbohydrate nightmare.

“I think that would be a bit of an understatement, Detective.” Hank noted grimly, coming over to stare despairingly down into the bowl with a look of disturbed disgust steadily creeping over his features, thick brows furrowing and lips twisting into an admonished grimace. Nevertheless, the android brought up the hefty bag of flour he’d apparently gathered somewhere during his porn star role and with it a metal measuring cup that Connor scoffed upon. Only amateurs used measuring cups.

The human glanced back at his sugar induced coma waiting to happen… Okay, maybe the non believers had a point. He could see the beauty in measuring cups.

Hank scooped the small metal cup down into the heavy bag and drew it up again a moment later, a thick mound of flour dusting down from the edges of the thing as he held it over the bag and brought a heavy finger up to draw along the top, pushing away the excess to level the powder. The top now crisp, flat, and wholeheartedly undisturbed by so much as a tiny lump or swell in its even perfection, the android squinted critically at it once more before finally pulling back and bringing it over to the bowl. Though, even then, he stilled looked doubtful of the flour’s true nature as he turned the cup over and gave the base a hard flick to send the packed down powder out in a thick, circular, lump that broke when it hit the egg-flavored sugar below.

Connor glanced around until his eyes caught a wooden spoon left laying out on the kitchen counter, old, nearly splintering wood an odd contrast to the sleek, modern marble of his countertop. The human reached out and snatched it up from where it lay and spun it around his fingers once in a restless twirl, letting the thin wooden handle roll over his knuckles and spin in his digits before plopping into the bowl, the hard wood a bit rough against his skin but nothing he couldn’t find a way to fiddle with nevertheless. Modern addiction remedies were miraculous but the human still ached for something to do with his unsettled hands when he idled. 

But Hank was teaching him that badass coin trick thing, tiny step by tiny step, and the android always looked so, truly,  _ happy  _ when Connor snubbed out a cigarette he’d lit out of unconscious routine. So, even if he couldn't get the coin to catch between his fingers how he wanted just yet, he’d keep at it. 

Connor drug the thick wooden spoon through the mess as best be could, the thing lagging as it tried to split through the dough that was far thicker than it should’ve been with the excess sugar and nearly getting swallowed from his grip by the sticky hold of the botched batch. 

Nevertheless, he persisted, pulling the wooden stick through the wet cement until it finally began to give under his tormenting assault and its resistance fell away to let him mix the yellow splat of the busted egg yolks into the clean white of the fresh flower until all was a dull looking beige murk, glimmering sugar granules still gleaming in the mix to prove their overwhelming dominance over all else.

“Looks pretty good!” Connor declared optimistically despite the fact that it most certainly did not and the doubtful look Hank was giving him did nothing to help preserve that whimsical narrative. Ignoring that pesky little thing called reality, the man reached into the bowl and grabbed the thick blob of poorly crafted dough from were it sat and heaved it up, putting a little more muscle into the action than he’d like to admit as the heavy ball felt more like Hank had added ground up bricks instead of powdery flour and it clung to the bottom of the bowl like it had merged into the ceramic itself.

With a grunt, Connor unstuck the the dough that was clingier than him when he was tipsy from it’s forbidden lover - The bowl - and let it go over the counter where it plummeted and hit with a dull thud. Wincing at the less than promising sound, the detective could only hope he hadn’t just dented his counter as he pressed his palms into the thick mass, pushing down into the unyielding weight until it slowly began to squish out under his hold. Nearly cringing at the feeling of the moist dough squelching up between his fingers, Connor worked it down as best he could, shoulders arching as he leaned his whole weight into the unruly culinary disaster in hope of getting it flat enough for a rolling pin to be effective.

“Let me try.” Hank offered after a moment, moving into Connor’s space to nudge the detective away from the rock disguised as a food and take his place, massive body a solid pressure that had the exact opposite effect of the android's request, making the human want to stay right there. The android looked down upon the dough, blue eyes narrowed critically as if he were sizing it up and analyzing it for weakness and LED cycling a slow yellow that did nothing to dissuade that impression. The mechanical man looked more like he was going to war than baking Christmas cookies with his boyfriend. The intensity... Damn was it  _ sexy! _

Hank bought both arms up and bore down into the dough, pressing the butts of his massive palms into the stuff and tensing his mechanical muscles with the effort. His face contorted into a look of hard concentration as his hands worked the stubborn cookie dough into submission, pushing and pressing until the beige lump began to yield to his torment and flattened out under his huge hands.

Connor was pretty sure he choked on his own tongue. 

The human opted to busy himself with retrieving the cookie cutters before he creamed his jeans on the spot, turning away from the lewd display of baking porn with monumental effort to scurry across the floor to where he kept the items in question. Connor found the drawer he was looking for and tugged it open, long fingers curling around cool brass and sending a slight chill running down his arm as he drew the thing out and let his eyes flit over the mess inside. Some old odds and ends scattered across the nearly empty drawer; a pencil with reindeer on it, a pen that was supposed to smell like mint but only ever smelled like stale plastic, a santa shaped eraser that now only looked like the stuff of nightmares as it had been put to use and now only had a blank smudge where there had once been a sculpted face.

A christmas card, decorated with a pretty picture of a snow covered woods and outlined with rich plumes of glitter dusted holly, lay over the red plastic cookie cutters the man wanted, the decorations gleaming in the kitchen light to shine brightly in a way that screamed it couldn’t be ignored. Connor did his damndest to ignore it anyway, trying not to look at it as he flicked it aside to grab the cookie cutter underneath, red plastic shaped into a simplistic gingerbread man with little to speak for in ways of intrigue. However, his quick and careless action meant to rid himself of the unwanted card as quickly as possible ended up flipping it over instead; the white underside stained with thin, black pen marks sweeping across the paper in long, elegant lines.

The words “Merry Christmas - Can’t wait to see you both!” engraved themselves behind his eyes before he could slam the drawer shut, flashing behind his dark eyelids even as he squeezed his orbs tight shut and pressed his palms tight against the closed drawer, as if he kept the drawer itself closed he could keep the memories it held locked inside it. The card had gotten lost in the mail and hadn’t arrived until mid-January, nearly three weeks after everything fell apart. Connor couldn’t remember screaming so much in his life.

The detective forced a steadying breath to draw between his lips and into his suffocating lungs, slowly letting his eyes drift back open to stare hard at the brass handle of the drawer until the blurry edges fogging his vision began to clear. Connor begrudgingly pushed away from the drawer and ignored the slight tremor unsteadying his step to walk back across the kitchen, his grip on the cookie cutter so iron tight he was shocked it didn’t snap in his hold as he drew to a halt in front of the counter.

Hank gave the human an odd look as Connor placed the gingerbread shaped cutter beside the miraculously flattened expanse of dough stretching over the tabletop, one the man couldn't quite put a name to. The android’s stormy eyes were heavy, darkened by something indeterminable and fixed on his partner with a thousand untraceable things sparking through their mechanical orbs and his mouth was set in the beginnings of a frown. “Con-” The HK800 managed to get out but the human was set on making the unhappy look disappear and jumped right to into it before Hank could open his mouth to draw him down that dark and dismal path that would certainly not be conducive to giving his partner the fun and festive Christmas he deserved.

“Let’s pop that cookie cutting cherry.” Connor interjected cheekily, plucking the plastic gingerbread man from where he’d left it and thrusting it into the android’s hand before another word could be said. 

Hank looked doubtful - Or, well, maybe unsettled would be a more accurate description - but he let whatever he was going to say slide by at the moment and allowed the cookie cutter to be drug over the flattened dough by Connor’s guiding grip, the human’s slender digits curled over his thick wrist a stark contrast to his huge hand. “If you wanted to make gingerbread men, why did we not make gingerbread?” The android questioned as his hand lowered over the pale dough and the cutter dug into the blank expanse of cookies waiting to happen, Connor’s fingers pressing down against the back of his hands until the plastic sliced through the dough and hit the hard counter. 

“Because gingerbread tastes like ass, Hank.” Connor scoffed flatly, as if the android should have already known this most fundamental fact of the universe. “Sugar cookies are the epitome of Christmas cookies. There the creme de le creme of the season” The human explained slowly, understanding only because the machine had only been alive for a few short months. Otherwise, such blasphemy would be punishable by death.

“I’m afraid I wouldn’t know.” Hank snorted dryly but a fine edge of humor touched his graveling tones, sending a pleased thrill up Connor’s spine as he encouraged the android to press the cutter into the flat dough once again. 

Soon, they had amassed a small army of gingerbread man and Connor gathered a cookie sheet from a low cabinet beside the oven, kicking it closed behind him as he moved back to the table and laid it out beside the cookies still stuck flat to the countertop. “We’ve got to be really careful pulling these up.” The man explained, bringing his long fingers up to dig his nails under the head of the first cookie and beginning to try and coax the dough off the counter as carefully as he could, watching for any rips as he slid his digits slowly under the thing.

Hank followed suit, watching Connor’s fingers cautiously work the dough free and beginning to try and copy the maneuver with the nearest cookie, trying to wedge a large digit under the things’s head only too end up smashing its skull straight into its pudgy little body.  The android drew his hand back, face twisting in confusion and LED flashing a sharp yellow as he snapped his gaze back to where Connor was slowly freeing up the last, resilient leg of his own cookie. 

“You’ve got to be gentler than that.” Connor chuckled amusedly, enjoying the uncomprehending stare Hank was currently fixing his own cookie with as he lowered it onto the metal sheet. The robot looked appalled. Offended even. Compared to his usual stoic demeanor, the display was as enrapturing as it was humorous. Connor adored when Hank let his emotions shine through - Stickin’ it to those Cyberlife bastards who got off on claiming he was nothing more than a bunch numbers crammed into a plastic frame. Designed to follow orders. Never programmed to feel.

Hank was more human than half the breathing assholes Connor knew and he didn’t need to bleed red to prove it. 

The android tried again, slower this time, slotting his heavy fingers under just the edge of cookie and pulling it up inch by inch off the counter. All was going well, the thing peeling up compliantly under Hank’s careful hold bit by bit, until a thin part where the arm connected to the shoulder came up and the cookie ripped in the android’s hands. The tiny arm stayed in one spot why the rest of the cookie kept going and Hank looked on in absolute  _ mortification. _

A small laugh burst from Connor’s lips as he witnessed the HK800’s LED go blazing red and watched the horrified expression overtake the android’s mechanical features. Fuck whatever scientist said Hank wasn’t alive - There was nothing realer than the true pissed off, shock painted vividly across the droid’s robotic features.

“I thought androids were supposed to be good at everything?” Connor teased warmly, nudging Hank in the side with an angular shoulder to draw the android’s gaze away from where it was still fixed disbelievingly to the cookie’s amputated arm, horriedied, simply horrified.

“I’m afraid my creators didn’t think their police robot would ever have use for a baking feature.” Hank answered with a warm hint of humor creeping back into his tones as he finally drew his eyes away from the failure of a cookie left lying on the counter. “I believe I could download the basic cooking protocol they install into household model androids easily enough, however.” He went on thoughtfully, LED cycling a slow yellow indicating he’d probably brought up the database to do just that somewhere in his mechanical head.

“Hey, no! That’s cheating!” Connor shouted hastily, waving a hand in front of Hank’s face until the android’s LED finally went back to blue with a low chuckle, warm and reverberating through the human’s bones. “Just, like this.” The man explained, taking one of the android’s hands and guiding it slowly under the very edge of a cookie with his own, smaller fingers helping to draw up the stubborn edge as the cookie slowly let itself be lifted from its place on the counter.

It was after that one ripped too that Connor heard Hank scream for the first time in his life.


	7. Christmas is a Time for Family

“It’s okay, Hank, we ended up with a good seven salvaged little guys.” Conor soothed gently, closing the oven door and twisting the timer on top until fifteen minutes blinked across the tiny illuminated screen in blocky numbers. A tiny beep let him know the time was set and a second later the numbers switched to 14:59, letting him draw away to cast his gaze back onto his disgruntled robot, still skulking around the counter like a big, electronic storm cloud. 

“You did a good job for your first try.” The detective reassured sincerely, flitting across the kitchen to slink up behind the android, letting his long arms slip around Hank’s bulky torso to press into the wide expanse of his companion’s back, peeking up on tiptoes to press his lips soothingly to the exposed skin at the bass of the machine’s neck where his dark t-shirt dipped.

The android merely grumbled something Connor couldn't quite make out under his breath but leaned into his touch nevertheless, seeming to settle some as his LED swirled down from it’s bothered red to rest at more of a perturbed yellow. Hey, it was something.  Eventually, Hank even calmed down enough to reach out and gather the ceramic bowl from the counter, plucking the wooden spoon off the tabletop soon after and moving toward the sink on the far side of the room, dragging the human that still hadn’t relinquished his hold with him.

“Hey, wait, I wanna lick that!” Connor protested hastily, finally letting his arms untangle from Hank’s torso in favor of skittering around the android to pluck the stolen spoon from his companion’s hand, snagging the thing between his thumb and forefinger with a grin.

“Detective, the consumption of raw eggs is a risk for contracting salmo-” Hank began the familiar speech, LED flickering a concerned yellow, but Connor waved off his words before the android could even get into the technicalities.

“Salmonella, I know, Hank. My mother gave me the same speech more times than I can count.” Connor chuckled warmly but the mention of the woman in question sent a dull pang of pain through his chest; not as intense as it had once been, but still an empty ache that never quite went away. Opting to simply push the ancient sadness aside, the human focused instead on the stolen prize clasped between his fingers, a long trail of sugared dough dripping from the curve of the top to run down the woods toward his fingers. 

Connor brought the long staff of the spoon up to his mouth and darted his tongue between his lips before the sluggish trail could touch his fingers where they curled around the wood, dragging the tip just along the messy column to catch the escaping dough. He pulled back, letting the drip caught between his lips wash over his taste buds and drinking in the delicious flavor lingering on his tongue, almost overwhelmingly sweet yet blissful in the small taste. 

A sharp noise drew his attention away from the flavor and up to where Hank was still standing just before him, apparently no longer interested in his previous quest of washing the dishes and instead a whole lot more interested in staring at Connor’s lips. The android’s LED spun a slow yellow, the flickering light never resting for a moment as it adopted a constant spinning series of pulsing flashes, bright and burning against the machine’s temple.

_ Revenge.  _ Connor thought with a slow smirk drawing across his lips, the thrill of having such an effect on the amazing creature before him fueling the flames flickering through his veins. The human brought the utensil back to his mouth, letting his tongue slip between his lips once more to flatten it against the curve of the spoon and draw it up to the very tip in a slow lick, allowing his eyes to flutter shut and drinking in the poorly muffled groan the display drew from his partner. 

Encouraged, Connor flicked the very tip of his tongue across the peak of the wood, dragging away the cookie dough dipping down from the top of the thing before parting his lips and fitting them over the crest. A clipped, static touched grunt punched into the human’s ears as he let his mouth slide farther down the spoon, only to drag himself back up in a languid suck as he let his eyes flutter open once more to fix his gaze on Hank’s as he drew off the wooden thing.

_ “Connor.”  _ Hank groaned, voice deliciously low and graveled to the point that it bordered on a growl as closed the gap between them, huge hands coming to rest heavily on Connor’s hips as he pressed himself in, keeping the man close so he pressed flush against him.

Hank’s solid pressure against him drew a breathless noise from Connor’s lips as he let himself be drug forward, jutting hips held still so the android’s commanding weight pressed flush into him. His skin burned under the machine’s hands, starved body screaming for the sweet reprieve of his partner’s touch and hips all but bucking into Hank’s out of pure need alone. 

Hank really did growl at that, massive palms dragging Connor forward to create the friction they both desperately craved and the human let himself be moved however the android wanted. He trusted Hank. Trusted him to make it feel good. Trusted him to know his limits. Trusted him.  _ Trusted him.  _

A blaring, punk rendition of the Nyan Cat theme song exploded through the air at top volume, sending Connor’s heart leaping into his throat and his body jolting under Hanks hands which, in turn, only resulted in him slamming his half-mast dick straight into the solid muscle of the android’s beefy thigh. 

“Fuck!” The man cried through a pained yelp, nearly doubling over as rolling agony coursed over him in throbbing waves centered around his crotch. He would never get hard again. His dick was broken. His sex life was ruined! Well, his sex life was already ruined… But everything else still stood! 

“Detective, are you okay?” Hank asked worriedly, the single stupidest thing that had come out of world’s greatest achievement’s mouth. 

Connor groaned around a tight grimace, eyes squeezed shut and mouth contorting into what was supposed to be a reassuring smile but looked more like an absolute abomination as he slowly drew a hand up in a shaky ‘ok’ sign, not trusting his voice to come out without cracking at the moment. He doubted it was the slightest bit reassuring but decided to focus his energy on the demon that had caused the sudden interruption rather than his performance, reaching a hand into his back pocket to yank his phone forth from within and draw it up to his face.

The human glared spitefully into the cursed screen, angry eyes flitting along the words “Unknown Caller” flashing across the screen in bright, white letters as the item itself vibrated merrily in his hand, still screaming its siren song at the top of its electronic lungs. He seriously considered simply chucking the thing across the room and thrusting himself back into Hank’s wonderful hands; but after a long moment, he opted against it. Unfortunately, real life wasn’t like the movies where people were always chucking the detective’s phone out of the window for convenient plot purposes only for a new one to magically appear back in his pocket the next episode. No, honey: it was a you break it, you buy it policy here. 

So, instead, Connor begrudgingly jammed his index finger into the accept call button and brought the receiver up to his ear with a less than friendly, “Hello?”

“Connor.”

The human’s world slowed around him until it stuttered to a slow halt, dragging down until all that existed was him and the phone in his hands. It had been years since he’d heard that voice, light and melodious, lilting in the same way his own did yet always carrying a certain edge he himself never had. It had been… 13 years.

The voice of Evelyn Anderson.

“Mom?” The human heard himself whisper though he didn’t remember telling his mouth to do so, the word nothing more than a shaking breath on his lips as the world started back up around him, slowly spinning back into existence until he was drowning in it.

“Connor, I- I know I don’t usually call.” The woman on the other end of the line began awkwardly, her language stiff and stilted as if she weren't sure how to speak with him. 

It was the understatement of the century. Connor couldn’t find it in himself to say this though. Couldn’t find the strength to say anything.

“I just wanted to make sure you were doing okay this Christmas.” The woman whose voice he barely knew at this point poured out in one, quick breath. “I just wanted to know you were okay.” Evelyn tried again, slower this time. Softer. Hesitant almost. 

“I’m…” Connor began but his words stuck in his throat and smothered the life out of him. He wasn’t okay. How could she ask that? How could she dare expect him to be? She..  _ She… _ “I’m okay.” The detective answered stiffly, detaching himself from his own words, from the call, from  _ her. _

“Connor, I’m sorry.” 

The words echoed around Connor’s mind, sunk in slowly and bounced around his empty head. There was a time, long ago now, when that was everything he wanted to hear. The  _ only  _ thing he wanted to hear.

_ Connor, I’m sorry. _

The words sounded so empty now.

“You don’t have to say anything.” Evelyn assured after a moment, though the quiet pain in her birdsong voice made it clear that wasn’t what she wanted. Connor didn’t think he could say anything even had he wanted to. “I just wanted you to know.” Her once familiar voice whispered softly, it’s gentle song a familiar cadence that drew him and called for him to follow it; but he couldn’t. 

It didn’t matter anyway. The line was already dead.

Connor lowered the phone from his ear slowly, letting his arm drift down on its own as his mind replayed the short conversation over again, picking it apart, running time and again; though in search of what, he had no clue. He swallowed thickly around nothing, forcing his lungs to draw air though they fought to refuse and struggled to work around all the words caught in his throat. 

“Connor.” Hank’s graveling tones called to him, rumbling through the human’s dulled senses to draw him out of his own mind. The machine’s heavy hands found their way to the man’s arms, careful fingers wrapping gently around his biceps just under his shoulders so Hank’s thumb could just brush over where angular shoulder blades met pale arms.

Connor slowly drew his gaze up from where it had been fixed on his dark phone screen to meet the android’s searching gaze, locking eyes with his partner and feeling some of the simmering tension writhing through his guts ease, drifting out through each small dip and divot Hank’s fingertips made in his skin. “My mother called.” The detective informed slowly but the words felt stupid and obvious in his mouth. “Which probably means the world is ending.” He chuckled lightly, letting himself refocus on the here and now; on Hank.

“You don’t talk about your parents much.” Hank answered sensibly, the comment offering a space for explanation but not demanding one; leaving it up to Connor to decide if he wanted to start talking about them now or leave things at the status quo.

Connor would be perfectly happy never speaking about those fuckers as long as he lived; but, well… It felt  _ right _ to open up to Hank. To tell him all those little things he didn’t feel like bothering himself with anymore. The old secrets tucked away into the darkest spaces so far in the back of his mind that they had cobwebs gathering on them. 

“They told me to pack my bags when I said I’d let Edward Cullin bite me any day.” Connor snorted easily, the words riding a dry chuckle as he tried to recall the event. It hadn’t actually happened like that: There had been months of building up his guts and chickening back out. Many a midnight spent talking to his ceiling with Nines there to listen. It had been his brother in the end that convinced him to finally come out and the swift punch to the face it had earned him was nothing compared to the pain of being shut out of his own family.

Back when he was eighteen, it had been the end of the world. He’s started going out, drinking until he couldn't remember his own name, let alone theirs. 

After Nines, it didn’t seem to matter so much anymore.

Hank’s LED flashed a bright red, his handsome face hardening into a tight jawed frown and his eyes flashing briefly as his grip on Connor’s arms tightened a fraction, the fingers sinking into the human’s skin a reassuring pressure that helped hold the man together. “Assholes.” The android abruptly declared, graveling voice flat and dry as the desert.

Connor stared on for a long moment - Then burst into a fit of snorting laughter. “You’re right, they’re fucking assholes!” The man snickered warmly, letting the last of the tension still writhing through him drain out into the words and reveling in the light feeling left swelling in his chest. It had been the very last thing he expected to hear on the android’s lips - Somewhere after “I’m sorry” and “That’s awful to hear,” or any other preprogrammed Hallmark responses - but it was exactly what he needed. 

“But you know what, it doesn’t matter.” Connor informed truthfully once his laughter began to subside, shaking his head to clear the last clinging giggles from his voice as a warm smile played across it lips. He reached up to wrap his fingers around Hank’s arms where the android’s hands still braced on his shoulders, curling his slender digits around thick muscle to let his fingertips run along synthetic skin that melted away under his touch. “I have family to be with this year.” Connor informed reverently, letting his voice drop to a whisper as one of Hank’s hands drew back from the human’s shoulder to catch the detective’s roving fingers in his own larger ones.

Synthetic skin slipped away to reveal white plastic underneath, cold and gleaming in the fluorescent light of the kitchen. Inhuman machinery threaded with true human hands, blood and skin, and bone pressed against wires and gears, a fluttering pulse beating in time with the constant hum of thrumming metal. 

“And every year after.” Hank promised and Connor believed him.


	8. Frosting Fun

The shrill beep ringing through the air like a wailing siren crying out its agony for all the world to hear is what finally drew Connor’s hand out of Hank’s, the whining noise as painful as it was loud and leaving a sorrowful echo of its crying mystery in his ears even as it subsided. The human was up in an instant, flying across the room so fast he nearly clipped his hip on the sharp corner of the counter as he went before he finally skidded to a haphazard halt in front of the oven and snapped a quick hand out to twist the knob controlling the heat until it fell to the off position with a sharp click, long fingers hasty and ungraceful in their work. The little red light indicating the oven was on had dimmed, fading to a dull burgundy that sat dark and unlit as Connor gripped the long metal bar of a handle running along the top of the stove door and tugged it down, wanting to get the cookies out of the heat as soon as possible lest he burn them - Like every other batch he’d ever tried to make in his life. The man had seen far too many sad, crisp little gingerbread people crumbling to dust in his fingertips to let them linger in the oven any longer than he had too.

A mighty wave of heat swelled forth from the door as he threw it open, billowing out with tremendous force and exploding into the overeager human’s face, licking tendrils of hot air striking across his cheeks and stinging at his eyes as the great swarm washed over him. It stole the air from Connor’s lungs and drew a sharp, breathless cough from the man but it surged on as quickly as it had come and relinquished its hold on him with little more than a lingering sting along the very arch of his cheek bones to speak for its wicked assault as the detective blinked past the burning air into the oven beyond. 

The cookies were not the pretty pale sugar cookies they should be, all clean and white in the purest of manners like angles had truly jumped into the oven and let themselves be baked. No, the seven survivors left scattered along the gray sheet in the orange tinted darkness of the stove were dark beige with the beginnings of black just licking at the edges; but hey, it was a huge improvement over the smoldering lumps of charred disgrace Connor had gotten the last time, so he was gonna count them as a success.

Hank appeared at Connor’s side before the human had time to boast of their success, eager to tell the robot the arm they’d stuck back onto to the cookie he’d broken in the dough stage of things had survived the fires of fate and still hung on. However, the moment the android came to stand in front of the oven he said nothing of warning before he went and stuck his huge hands straight into the still glowing pit of kitchen appliance hell, massive fingers obscured and wavering as Connor’s vision was distorted by the heat waves still rolling out of the darkness.

“What the hell do you think your doing!” Connor barked incredulously, voiced raised with disbelief so that it nearly bordered on a strained scream as he grasped one of his companion's bulky arms and tried to pull it back with little luck.

“Do not concern yourself, Detective.” Hank dismissed  _ idiotically, _ looking perfectly at ease as he curled his huge digits around the cookie pan while Connor did exactly that, sucking in a sharp breath and producing some unintelligible sound of distress. “My temperature sensors are turned off.” The android explained evenly, low voice steady and calm as he lifted the cookie sheet off of the smoldering rack and pulled it toward the light of day.

“I don’t care! What if-!” Connor tired to protest nevertheless, still not giving up his persistent tugging at Hank’s hands to try and draw them away from the burning metal even if he didn’t have anything to end that sentence with. It didn’t matter if the android couldn’t feel it, the human still didn’t want him putting his poor hands on the blazing material. “What if you melt yourself?” The detective tried worriedly, flailing in the dark for something - anything - to say to make his partner put the cookies down.

“It would take temperatures at least three times this to damage me, Detective.” Hank assured confidently, walking across the kitchen with calm, even steps, despite the steaming pan held firmly in both hands. “Now, stop, you’re gonna make me drop them!” The android huffed irritably, trying to hold the pan above Connor’s grasping hands still tugging demandingly at his arms in protest and nearly tripping over his human boyfriend as the detective crowded in in his attempts to dissuade the android. 

“Good!” Connor shot back hotly, never once relenting in his concern driven assault. Victory was not to be his, however, as Hank finally made it to the table and placed the sheet down in the middle of it with an almost smug looking smile tugging at his mechanical features. Fucking cocky robot and his goddamn magic heat hands giving his poor human a heart attack.

Connor threw his arms up in exasperated defeat, muttering something about heat resistant fuckery as he went to go gather the icing from where he kept it in a cabinet nearby and opting to ignore the amused chuckle that trailed his snark mumblings. The detective crouched down before the cabinet he wanted and tugged it open by the small circular handle fit into the side of the dark wood, revealing a large plastic tupperware with a few squeeze bags of royal icing barely discernible through the gray sides clouded  with age - Not to mention a whole lot of fucking dust. 

The detective reached into the darkness of the barren cupboard and fit both hands on the edge of the bulky container, curling the tips of his fingers just under the curved rim of the thing and tugging it out of its dusty grave, bringing a heavy cloud of the grime into the room after it. With a dry cough wrenching through his lips, Connor waved a hand in front of his face to try and clear the air and draw something besides dust into his smothered throat as he vaguely pushed his hand towards the cupboard door to catch it with the tips of his fingers and send it swinging shut.

The cool kiss of the floor against his bare feet sent a slight chill rushing over Connor’s skin as he scurried back to the counter where he came to a halt and lifted his arms over the tabletop before letting the ancient tupperware drop from his fingers high above it, sending it plummeting until it eventually hit with a dull thud and sent a fresh wave of dust billowing up in its wake, gray grime flying up in a great wave to have its way with his nostrils. Maybe he should’ve kept those tissues shoved up there, after all.

“Connor,” Hank began slowly, eyeing the offered tupperware like one might gaze upon a rat drug up out the sewer and slapped on a plate. “Those are older than me.” He pointed out carefully, reaching a large hand forward to pluck up one of the icing packets and turn it over in his hand, grimacing as the old plastic packaging began to disintegrate under his hold.

Connor looked at the tupperware himself, taking in the yellowing edges of the old plastic and what had once been a small crack spreading over the side that had since become a gaping hole since he’d dropped the thing. The bags inside were gold and shiny, gleaming under their dusty covering where huge cursive letters spelled out the colors they held in a festive font of green and red; but the lettering had since became smudged and weathered to the point that it was barely discernible. He grimaced internally and once again thanked the gods Hank couldn’t eat.

“Everything’s older than you, Hank.” Connor reminded cheekily, plucking the crumbling bag from the robot’s hand and tossing it back in the box. “You were activated what, two months ago?” The human jibed lightly, brushing past the android’s concern and grabbing up a more solid looking bag. This one had W. Indiscernible scribble. Indiscernible scribble. S? Indiscernible scribble... written across it in flaking foil letters that were barely clinging on to the packaging. Good enough. 

“Besides, I don’t see any expiration date on them!” Connor pointed out cheekily and fit his fingers over the white tipped cap, popping it open with a sharp twist and flicking it aside where it skidded across the tabletop with a noisy clatter. Sure, that may be because all the letters were worn off at this point but he was just going to ignore that little fact.

Connor thrust the more sturdy bag into Hank’s hands and reached back into the tupperware to grab one for himself, not really bothering to look at the colors themselves so much as grabbing the first thing his hands fell on. He wrapped his digits over the cool plastic and lifted it up to squint critically at the few vague smudges left that had once been letters to little avail, the foil lettering too far gone at this point. Whatever, as long as it wasn’t turd brown or something equally hideous, it was alright with him.

Connor popped the top off his own bag of icing and tossed it aside to give the bag an experimental squeeze, the material giving easily and squishing oddly under his grip, an obscure feeling he wasn’t quite sure he liked or despised. It bled between his long fingers and bulged under the slightest pressure, swelling up toward the top as he tightened his fist over it until he was sure it was going to pop and leave him covered in ancient sugary hell. However, he would apparently be spared from that carbohydrate suffering for now as the reluctant icing squelched forward and slowly spread into the tip, squirming up through the plastic until it squeezed through the small hole at the top in a thick slug of a trail. 

Deep, royal blue flooded forth over the gleaming white plastic, its rich color a sharp contrast to the cold tones of its holder. It looked like someone had taken the ocean and bottled it up inside the old plastic bag, free and flowing even when it was captured and held against its will in the dark recesses of his cabinet for all these years. 

Connor’s gaze flicked over to where Hank had taken a cookie off the tray and currently glared down at it in full focus mode, arms tensed as he clasped the bag he’d been given in both hands and one or two stray hairs that hadn't made it into the ponytail falling over his furrowed brows as they came together in intense concentration. The human’s gaze caught on the LED set there into the android’s temple, cycling a slow, calm blue. The color of contentment. 

Connor loved the color blue.

A trickle of warmth bled slowly into the human’s chest as he let his gaze come back to his own work, reaching forward to pluck one of the cooling cookies from the tray and ending up with a deformed little guy whose neck didn’t exist and whose bulbous head seemed to be smushed straight into his pudgy little body. The cookie felt a little too warm in his hand to be considered comfortable even as he drew it off the dark surface of the tray and lay it before himself on the counter to begin decorating, squinting critically down at the blank snack and trying to picture a beautiful Pinterest creation where there now only existed an empty face. Even then, Connor could still sense the solid presence of his partner at his side, so close they brushed arms occasionally. 

If this was how his Christmases were going to feel… Maybe Connor could begin to love the season again. 

That positive thought in the back his mind, the detective let the beginnings of some carol he couldn’t quite remember the words to hum between his lips as he brought the tip of his icing bag over his oddly shaped snack, something light and warm that his mother used to sing back before she gave him the boot because he liked to kiss guys. He let the feeling creep into his veins, let himself feel the familiar loving caress of the season as he let a thick dollop of icing splat onto the left side of his cookie’s face to serve as an eye, the bright blue leaking across the bland beige to bring some color to the the empty canvas. His lines were wavering, uneven and scrappy, but he drew a broad smile across the snack’s face, nevertheless, crooked and uneven as it may be and then went on to dot the other eye and trace out a few details in the body: Because obviously his gingerbread man needed to have a speedo.

Satisfied with his first creation done, Connor leaned back to give his work a final once over before giving himself an approving nod and letting his gaze flick over to Hank. However, he found the android to be glaring down at his own cookie with such a look of utter horror you’d have thought the lifeless piece of cooked dough sprung up before him and called his mother a whore.

The android’s face was twisted into a look of such intense focus it was a wonder the poor cookie hadn’t crumbled under his iron gaze and the synthetic muscles in his arms twitched with the restrained force of his iron grip fit around the bag of icing. The plastic was already beginning to tear under the demanding hold, sending yellow dyed mush bleeding out onto his huge hands; but the android didn’t seem to notice, dragging the tip along the face of his cookie like the world depended on him getting this right.

Connor carefully lowered his own bag of icing to leave it lay on the table, deciding his hands could find better use slowly slipping up to Hank’s shoulders as he let his gaze drift down to the cookie that all human life apparently rested on. It wasn’t bad per say. It was just… dull. It had two dots for eyes, set perfectly symmetrical upon its round little face and a straight line where a mouth proportionally would’ve sat on a human and… Nothing. Aside from that, there was nothing. 

Connor made a soft sound as his thin fingers crept up Hank’s broad shoulder blades, pressing gently up along the machine’s synthetic muscles until he could squeeze reassurance into the fabricated tendons connecting them to his neck. The detective doubted wired muscles would benefit much from the treatment but, surprisingly, he felt his companion untense some under his hold, sagging down with a heavy huff of air that sounded far too human for any idiot to ever tell him Hank wasn’t alive. “It’s not bad.” Connor promised gently, trying to pack as much genuine sincerity into his voice as he could yet still only receiving a disbelieving snort for his efforts, a sound he could feel reverberate through the android’s mechanical frame under his fingertips.

“It’s just missing something.” Connor pressed on, sliding off of Hank to grab his icing bag from where it lay forgotten beside his own cookie and bringing it over to Hank’s empty creation. The human looked down at the gingerbread man critically, trying to decide what exactly it was that it needed on its nearly empty little face when an idea struck him and he leaned forward, squinting as he brought his bag with him and tried to get it just right. 

Carefully, he made a small little blue dot just on the treat’s temple, the splotch of color breathing life into the blank canvas of a cookie.

Connor drew back, looking down at the addition with a pleased feeling thrumming though his chest, drawing a warm smile to his face as he gazed upon the bright speck of blue breaking through the monotony of the cookie. “And it should be smiling.” He added with an amused chuckle as he turned back around to face the android, more than a little surprised he actually had to mention what he thought should’ve been a given.

However, when he turned, Connor found Hank’s gaze to be fixed on him with an odd sort of an expression, unreadable and almost… awed? In a way. The android’s stormy eyes fixed with the human’s questioning ones, locking him in place and sweeping whatever he had been going to ask right off his lips. The vivid emotional intensity captured Connor in its hold, stilling everything in his body so his lungs forgot to draw air and his heart didn’t remember to beat.

“You smile more now, Detective.” Hank eventually proclaimed, undualtured relief brimming in his orbs and spreading across his face in a slow smile, everything about the expression warm and  _ happy.  _

Connor didn’t even know he still had the power to make anyone look like that. The notion was… Heartstopping. 

The android’s hands found their way to Connor’s face before he even began to think of something to say, massive palms covering his jaws and drawing him in as a course thumb ran along his cheekbone in a loving stroke, heavy and dragging. Hank’s huge hands pulled the human in, bringing Connor’s lips to his own in a slow kiss, a vehement meeting where man melded into machine and melted into one entity. It was all consuming, reverberating deep within Connor until it echoed back into his partner and flooded back to the human in an intense echo of endless feedback. The man drowned himself in it, drinking in every minute and letting his mind slip to the numbing ocean of reassurance Hank offered in every touch, ever synthetic breath, every press of his fingers against Connor’s skin. 

The feeling remained when they finally parted, fleeting through Connor’s veins with its heavy warmth and grounding embrace, keeping him whole even when Hank’s hands weren't on him. Which, right now they were - Dragging across his cheek in fact, the course pad of the machine’s thumb scraping along his skin until it brushed the very corner of his lip when he finally pulled back.

A bright streak of yellow marred the digit when the android finally retreated, likely left there by Hank’s heavy hands when he’s pulled Connor in for a kiss, and the motherfucker kept his gaze fixed firmly on the human’s as he drug the finger up to his mouth and let his tongue slip between his lips. A teasing smirk played over the machine’s parted lips as he drug the digit along the flatted curve of his tongue, never once breaking the heavy eye contact he kept his partner locked in as the wolfish grin widened and he let his hand fall back to his side. 

“Fu-Ah! Uh-” Connor managed in a stuttering voice, breath abruptly absent from his lungs as he balked at the robot, voice noncompliant as his brain replayed the lewd display a thousand times over again behind his eyes, each time only managing to knock the breath from his chest with equal force as the last.

“You had something on your cheek, Detective.” Hank offered in way of explanation, words falling from a knowing smirk as amused eyes drank in every dumbfounded twitch and twist of his companion’s face. Fucking cocky robot and his goddamn sexy face!

Connor forced himself to draw in a steadying breath, breathing in heavily through his mouth and letting it drag out through his nose. He was calm. He was a picture of serenity. He was goddamn Buddha. “Hey, Hank,” The detective finally drawled slowly, carefully reaching back behind himself on the counter until his fingers brushed his cookie and he swiped the cunning digits along it. “I think you’ve got a little something right…” He began quietly - and then sprung before Hank could even have a chance to react.

“Here!” Connor shouted his battle cry as he leapt at the android, hands flying before himself to press across his partner’s cheek, spreading the icing along the sharp arch of his cheek bone and up his temple as Hank tried - and failed - to block his assault, arms not reacting in time to do much more that smear the attack across his forehead.

The HK800 managed to wrestle the smaller male back, pushing away the assaulting arm but not before half his face became a picture of icing blue and smudged cookie crumbs where they’d been taken up with the goop. It tangled in the synthetic hair of his beard, contrasting against his designed skin and smearing messily over his perfect features to create a harsh stripe of imperfection across impeccable infallibility. However, apparently, merely halting the attack was not good enough.

Connor Anderson expected a lot of things in his life. He expected to become a city detective working for far less than he should. He expected to be kicked out of his childhood home when he came out as gayer than a California pride parade to his conservative parents. Until about a month ago, he expected to die before he turned 35.

He did not, however, expect to be swept up in his android boyfriend’s massive arms and thrown across his kitchen counter.

Connor shrieked in a way that was anything but manly as Hank bore down on him, all flailing limbs and snorting giggles as he tried to squirm away to little avail. His back pressed into the cold counter top as his legs kicked out into open air, sending icing packets flying and bowls left lying around clattering to the floor but all was ignored. A frantic, laughter choked cry split from his lips as his android appeared over top of him, icing packet in hand and wicked grin flashing across his features, twisting his lips where they smeared across with brilliant blue from the human’s own attack.

“No! Hank, no! I’m sorry!” Connor tried to protest in a shrill scream of a voice, broken through with random spits of laughter that likely made his apology anything but convincing and it didn’t seem to matter much what he said anyway as a strong hand pressed firmly down into his chest, keeping his writhing body in place. Hank’s other hand swept up to capture both of the human’s uselessly swinging arms in one, iron grip, holding them high above his head in a way that probably would've been incredibly sexy had he not been about to take a splatting pile of icing straight to the face.

The hand on his chest relented to hold the packet far above the human and Connor only had time to give one last pathetic shriek before blue, glooping icing splattered down upon the pitiful captive, smearing across his face and smudging over his neck, shoulders, ears, everywhere as he tried to squirm free, twisting and struggling uselessly against pure machine strength. Connor’s shrieking eventually fell way to pure bubbling laughter as he was forced to accept his fate, too small under massive hands and a tragic victim of wasted icing.

Besides, he was getting an eyeful of an absolutely amazing grin beaming across Hank’s face - So who was the real winner here?


	9. The Tree Lighting

Once he’d finished scrubbing blue food dye out his hair and losing half his guts to a single bite of the festive atrocity (Hank’s concerned “Are they that bad?” over his shoulder while he retched over the trash can had been as sweet as it was laughable.) he decided to spend the rest of the evening in traffic. Well, actually what he decided was that he wanted to take Hank to see a tree lighting but that apparently translated straight into sitting at a dead standstill atop the Ambassador Bridge for three hours, a dull radio station that only believed in three Christmas songs resung by a thousand different artist who only ever barely changed the fluctuation of a single chord playing on a droning loop that was truly starting to drive the human mad.

Connor slammed his head straight into the steering wheel, drowning out the 50th rendition of Happy Xmas in a long, groaning beep that screamed throughout the small car with deafening strength but was lost in the sea of other angry horns droning on. The human slowly drug his eyes back up from his floorboards to let them cast out across the open water, trying to distract himself from the abominable butchering of John Lennon's masterpiece with the soothing scenery surrounding them on all sides.

The world around them was dark, the sky black as sin and inking across the clouds like someone had laid a blanket over the city and left it to fend for itself against the creeping night. However, the valiant cityscape had yet to succumb to that darkness, a thousand street lights shining out against the impending gloom and a billion glowing windows casting a fighting firelight around the city so it became a beacon of light in the dark night. The light reflected off the black water, distorted in a mirror image to create a surreal twin city that wavered in the dark river’s drowning depths.

Connor had spent his fair share of time dangling over the edge of the metal railing staring down into the mirror city. It wasn’t like the movies. No one walked there that time of night and the drivers racing by just stared on with the same dumb, “Oh shit, is he really gonna do it?” look before remembering to watch the road and swerving back into their lanes. Nobody stopped and nobody came to save you. 

But the word  _ freefall _ echoed in the back of his mind and drew him down every time. The thought of not having control of his body terrified him.

Right now, the guy was seriously considering driving them over the edge out of pure irritation alone. Another rendition of Last Christmas blasted through the speakers as they painstakingly crawled forward another coveted inch, his old car snarling dangerously under his hands and rumbling vengefully along its grumbling way until Connor was sure it would shake itself to crumbling pieces under his fingertips. 

“Please try and relax, Detective.” Hank’s deep tones soothed from the passenger seat,  heavy hand coming to rest over Connor’s where the human’s pale fingers gripped the steering wheel with white knuckles. The android’s huge fingers rubbed gently along his partner’s tensed digits, tracing over tight knuckles and brushing along long fingers near trembling with pent up rage - Or maybe it was anxiety, Connor really didn’t know at this point.

“We’re gonna miss it.” Connor argued, voice tight and edged with strain as he let his gaze slowly pull away from where it stuck like glue to the taillights of the car in front of him, the red lights glaring back him like the burning eyes of Lord Lucifer his fucking self. Instead he opted to let his eyes rest on Hank, the android’s ever handsome face a perfect picture of calm against his storm and his steely eyes warm and content when they met Connor’s own frazzled gaze.

“I am perfectly content as it is, Detective.” Hand reassured steadily, rumbling voice a graveling baritone that soothed over Connor’s prickling anxiety like sandpaper over a rough piece of wood, leveling and smoothing in the most assuring of ways. The android’s face spoke of genuity, lips curled up in the faintest of smiles and muscles as relaxed as they could be in the cramped little space the human’s car had to offer the machine’s hulking body.

“I’m sure you’re just having a great time staring at this guy’s bumper.” Connor snorted snarkily, far from convinced and even farther from actually calming down until he pulled their damn car into a parking spot at the park and had a tree in front of his face. He’d be lying if he said Hank’s calming tones hadn’t eased him any but at the same time they’d only made him want to provide the perfect Christmas he had far from provided as of yet. He’d nearly had an anxiety attack in the dressing rooms when they were supposed to be picking out sweaters, the office party had been a huge bust, and the cookie baking had barely any better - This, final event he had to get right.

“I am not staring at his bumper.” Hank denied in what could almost be called a teasing drawl, sly smirk crawling across his lips as he made a show of letting his eyes rove over the man beside him until they fixed on the detective’s hips. 

Connor snorted lightly, shaking his head a bit at the android’s crude attempt at flirtation. There was no way Hank could see his ass when he was sitting on it, the joke missing a few vital elements like - believability and humor to name a few - but the human felt his lips slip into a smile nevertheless, a warm feeling breathing its way into his chest and easing away the biting snap of his overextended mind still reeling with his exhaustive efforts to make Hank’s first Christmas what it should be.

Oncoming tension headache slowly retreating, Connor let himself soak in the welcome glow of Hank’s ever steady presence and found that when he wasn’t thinking about the cars in front of him so much, they seemed to actually move forward rather than just sit in place to taunt him. They inched on, eventually letting him escape from the bridge he’d tried to throw himself off more times than he would like to admit and onto the solid asphalt beyond, where he was free to take to the side streets and the shortcuts he’d long since memorized and thread through the buildings beyond that warded off the massive crowds spilling into the roads everywhere else. 

Down a side street, up the straightway, turn at the bakery, go past Lou’s Pizzeria but not past the original Lou’s Pizzeria. Streetlights whizzed by overhead, rushing past in quick blocks of light to let darkness overtake the inside of the vehicle again in their wake, sweeping moments of brightness in an otherwise black night. The hum of the car rumbling along on its last legs filled Connor’s ears, the monotonous sound reminding him the constant thrum just under his fingertips when he let them rest against Hank’s chest soothing in its familiarity, keeping him settled until he finally pulled into the park the tree lighting was to be held at.

The detective flicked on his blinker and turned onto a gravel road that wound through a thick mess of trees until it gave way to a crowded parking lot beyond, the shady outline of a sign he couldn’t make out in the darkness his only indication of where the hell he was supposed to go. The blinding gleam of his blazingly white headlights flashed across the thing as he turned into the parking lot, revealing an arrow pointing him in the direction of an overflow lot before the thing was masked in darkness once more, the all too bright light gone as quickly as it had come.

Connor followed the direction indicated, the wheels of his old car crunching noisily in the loose gravel below as he cranked the steering wheel in a sharp turn and skidding out under his spinning wheels when he pressed his foot to the gas pedal, leaving them growling into the ground for a moment before the rubber found traction and drug them forwards once more. The detective squinted into the darkness in search of an open spot and eventually caught one out of the corner of his eyes - Or, well, he saw an unclaimed patch of grass that you were  _ probably  _ allowed to park on.

The man turned them as smoothly as he could on the loose ground into the spot and threw the car into park, yanking up the hand brake as well before finally twisting the key back and sending the old vehicle whirring down into silence. “You ready for this hot load of holiday fun?” Connor asked his companion cheekily, turning in his seat to cast a wiry grin in the robot’s direction, the expression sitting crooked on his lips. 

Hank looked… Oddly doubtful. The robot’s face was set in a troubled frown, heavy brows furrowed and lips turned down just at the corners as he watched Connor from across the car. The android opened his mouth a fraction as if he meant to say something, letting it linger like the words were caught on his tongue, but then let it fall closed again a moment later with a disgruntled breath of air puffing from his nostrils and a deeper frown than he had started with playing across his lips. “If you are, Detective.” The robot finally settled on slowly, voice dragging out as if it wasn’t exactly what he wanted to say and that bothersome troubled look never leaving his designer face.

Oh, Connor sure as shit wasn’t. He wasn’t the least bit ready for any of this. 

“Ready and waiting, babe.” Connor offered with an easy grin, trying to pack as much confidence into the look as he possibly could while he reached over and popped open his door to let the frigid night air sweep in.

The night was mercilessly cold, sucking the warmth out of Connor’s very bones as he pulled himself out of his car and slammed the door shut behind him, the wind whipping at his cheeks and biting at his nose with vicious teeth and tearing through the layers of his heavy coat with poisoned claws. It was unrelenting, picking up the ends of the thick scarf Hank had wrapped over his neck and pulled up to his cheeks before they’d left the house and sending them whipping into his face as he tried to scrunch himself farther into his dark trench coat, arching his angular shoulders to bring the collar up to his ears. Worse, they never fucking started these things on time, Connor had no doubt he’d be stuck out here in the seventh inner circle of icy hell for at least an hour.

Heavy bulk pressed in behind the human, Hank’s weighty presence blocked the wind and bore over him with…  _ Warmth. _ Like, really fucking warm. Everywhere the android pressed in against him felt hot to the touch, like someone had draped a huge, electric blanket over the detective’s frozen from.  The machine’s hands were a melting kiss of cherished heat as they wrapped around him from behind and settled over this stomach to bring him as close as possible, chasing the chill from his bones. 

Connor’s gaze trailed down the the heavy hands pressed against his front and found synthetic skin to be melted away to reveal white plastic and, more than that, a faint red light creeping between the cracks where Hank’s chassis fit together, glowing faintly so it looked as if the fires of life itself were burning just under the android’s fingertips. A slight turn of his head revealed the areas of Hank’s clavicle and collarbones Connor could barely see under the heavy jacket he’d forced the android into even through the HK800 resolutely claimed he didn’t need it to be displaying the same mesmerizing sight, warm firelit orange licking languidly across pale plastic in the dark. 

The only light to guide the human in the blackness. Keeping him warm.

“Since when can you do that?” Conor whispered softly, voice gentle and awed as he brought one of his own hands out of where he’d stuffed them in his pockets to capture the glowing plastic pressed against his chest with his fingers. The detective drew his companion’s hand up to his face, pressing Hank’s massive palm against his chilled cheeks to chase away the blistering cold and leave sepia warmth creeping over his skin in its wake, leaning into the heated touch with a happy hum breathing between his lips.

“It’s a new update.” Hank replied in his ear, rumbling voice pleased in a way that deepened his tones and gave a warm gravel to the very back of his throat in a sound that Connor swore liquified his mind and squeezed his heart. God, he just wanted to hear it all the time.

“It’s incredible.” Connor gushed happily, threading his fingers with Hank’s heated ones to finally pull back and begin actually making their way toward the tree lighting itself, satisfied with that touch of warmth to battle the cold for now. Sure would be a shame if he beat the traffic only to miss the event basking in the glory of his lover - a now heater - in the parking lot.

“I thought you would like it.” Hank conceded proudly, not bothering to hide the self-satisfied grin brimming across his features as he let Connor guide him away from the car and toward the park itself. 

The walk to the lighting itself didn’t feel quite so long with Hank’s heated fingers intertwined with Connor’s own, their interlocked hands swinging lightly between them as they passed from gravel into grass and came to where a huge crowd could be seen gathering around a massive pine tree in the middle of an open field. The tree was a great and sprawling, crawling up to the heavens from the ground so that its peak seemed to touch the clouds themselves while an explosion of thick, bristling branches covered its trunk to create a display fit for marvel. Bright, bulky decorations hung from nearly every branch, massive bulbs and ornaments of every shape adorning the tree until all was covered in their festive embrace. They were just vague shadows in the bristling branches now but they still gleamed in the low light and Connor had no doubt they would look incredible when the lights finally came on.

His stomach twisted.

Connor pushed the feeling aside, ignoring the nagging discomfort creeping around the dark corners of his mind in favor of focusing on the feeling of Hank’s hand on his own, still warm to the touch yet hard and unyielding under his own hands. The plastic hidden just beneath the android’s skin was sleek and unnatural under the human’s fingertips, the pads of his own digits pressing against solid chassis that couldn’t dip or sink when it met his hands. His nails caught in the tiny cracks where the smooth plates that made up Hank’s outer shell came together when he tried to run his fingers over his partner’s true skin and scratched against harsh plastic with every dragging touch.

Connor  _ loved _ it. It was so real, so truly Hank. There was no deeper down to the machine’s core he could get than when his partner pulled back the fabricated overlay and let his lover see him for what he truly was. Not a human; blood, and flesh, and bone like himself… but an android. An android that was alive. That loved him. 

The sound of the crowd beginning the countdown was what finally drew Connor out of his musings, the unanimous “Ten!” rising from the amassed people echoing out to him where they stood just on the edge of the fray. It kept going down from there, seeming to only get faster with each passing number like the whole thing was spiraling out of control and Connor had no hope of digging into the dirt and keeping himself from falling with it. It was 7. It was 6. It swept him under. It was 5. It was 3. What happened to 4? It was 2. What about 4?? It was…

Blazing to life. The moment ended and the tension that had been building finally cracked, turning empty darkness to an aurora of color and light. Blues, and reds, and greens shone forth over the huge tree, spanning from the tip in the clouds to the trunk buried deep below. The tree shone out like a lighthouse across the dark, blinding against the blackness as screaming light exploded out over all. It gleamed off the ornaments and shone off the colorful bulbs, bringing the whole tree to life and sending it up in flames all in the same moment. The multicolored glare shone off the light covering of snow that swept the ground underneath its cool blanket and smothered the world beneath it, brimming with warmth and holiday splendor as the whole scene seemed to culminate around the gorgeous tree and its heavenly light shining out over all and pressing against the dark night of cold winter solstice. It was gorgeous.

_ A smaller hand slipped into his, tiny fingers curling tight around his own as an awed sound breathed between a mouth left hanging agape. Christmas lights reflected in blue eyes, outshone only by the wonder gleaming there. _

The multi colored lights began to blur into one another, once individual specks of light becoming wavering smudges of color smearing across his vision until all was one distorted glow. A choked sort of noise crawled up Connor’s throat, scratching over his lungs and squeezing the life out him until it emerged in a broken hiccup, cracking and quiet. All at once, his eye were burning and his breath wouldn’t come, his throat too busy choking up half formed sobs to worry about drawing air as his body curled over itself, shoulders rising over his head which dipped to let his hair fall into his face. 

Hands found the man’s cheeks but he couldn’t look up, couldn’t bare to see those lights. Wayward strands of mahogany fluff clung to his cheekbones where salt water made them stick and he tried to push them aside as he brought a hand up to his mouth to try and smother the sound. The sobs cracked out around his fingers nevertheless, choking, horrible, butchered noises that spilled forth from him as burning tears seared his eyes where they squeezed shut against them and pressed out to flood over his cheeks in a drowning river. His body wouldn’t be subdued, refusing to quiet the shuddering convulsions wracking his frame and shaking through him with enough force to send him crumpling to his knees.

They very well might have done just that is Hank’s massive hands hadn't found their way to his shoulders, keeping him standing as he was drug forward until his nose pressed against fabric and his face smushed up against the cold material of the android’s coat. The human’s eyes finally cracked open from where he’d squeezed them tight shut, vision gratefully blocked from the lights beyond by the machine’s broad chest until Hank was all he could see. Long fingers found there way into the dark threads of his companion’s jacket, twisting the material into tight fists and clinging on for dear life lest he be swept away by the current and drown in an ocean he couldn’t see but could feel flooding into his lungs, choking the air from his throat and smothering the words from his mouth.

Hank was his anchor. The android’s hands pressed the human’s lithe body tight into his chest, keeping him guarded from the rest of the world outside and his solid presence under the detective’s twisting fingers was grounding, keeping him there, in one piece. The tears didn’t stop but Connor found his ability to breath once more, drawing in an aching gasp around a choked throat and releasing the words he so badly needed to be heard.

“I miss him.” Connor croaked into Hank’s jacket, voice breaking and cracking over each painstaking syllable. “God, I miss him so fucking much.” The human tried again, choking on his tongue as everything he’d tried so hard to keep pent from December first ‘till this very moment spilled out in a crashing wave, taking him under with it. 

He missed Nines. 

With every screaming fiber of his being, he missed Nines. He missed putting up decorations, missed the smell of gingerbread and eggnog his house always used to carry this time of year, missed the appalled, offended, horror, painted across a face nearly identical to his own when an unexpected snowball splattered across the back of the boy’s head. He missed his little brother more than he could possibly fathom and it was ripping him apart at the seams.

“I know, Connor. I know.” Hank rumbled underneath him, the android’s voice reverberating under Connor’s fingertips as huge arms tightened around the human, pressed him closer, held him together. “I’m here.” The broken boy’s partner promised, his voice too strained to ever be a machine’s and buzzing over with static as his hands squeezed what truth he could into the man’s arms - Not “I’m sorry.” Not “It gets better.”

_ I’m here. _

When they had left the park, Connor didn’t know. Hank must’ve steered him away from the crowd and into the car at some point. He ended up home somehow or other though, unaware of most things going on around him except Hank’s hands on him until the world settled back into stillness and reality slowly started to creep back in. 

When Connor came back to himself he found his body to be sinking into the familiar cushions of his own couch, the television casting a faint blue glow flickering across the floor a few feet away and filling the room with a low thrumming background noise as the people on the screen argued about some silly thing he couldn't quite make out.The soft brush of whiskers under his nose brought his attention to where Sakura had crawled up in his lap and now butted her head against his affectionately, puffy gray fur soft and comforting even as it tickled. A warm sensation in his fingers drew his eyes to a cup clasped between his fingers, thick plumes of steam billowing from the dark brown liquid inside where large marshmallows floated and bobbed in the drink.

A larger pair of hands wrapped over his, keeping his grip steady and with them they drug a thick blanket, slung over both him and his companion to hang off bulky arms as they reached around Connor, creating a small tent of comfort and warmth. Hank’s solid form pressed firmly into the human’s back, his reassuring weight a constant pressure that Connor couldn’t help but sink into, letting the tension drain from his limbs as his partner stirred at his response and in turn tucked the blanket a little tighter around them both. 

“My bet is on blondie getting with brooding beefcake.” Hank rumbled in his ear, voice a soothing vibration in his bones Connor felt more than heard as the android nodded towards the screen and the human vaguely became aware that The Christmas Prince was playing… Truly, the most cliche of cliches.

_ I’m here, _ Echoed in Connor’s head as he felt warmth drain back into his frosted veins, feeling coming back into his numb mind. 

_ I’m here. _ Everything still ached, Connor’s head felt stuffy with the same oncoming sinus headache he always got when he cried and his heart was heavy with loss; but with his android, and his cat, and a cup of cocoa all wrapped in one, safe tent on the couch… He thought maybe…

_ I’m here. _

That’s all he needed this Christmas. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Merry Christmas/Hanukkah/Solstice/Whatever the hell you celebrate! 
> 
> Thanks for reading :)

**Author's Note:**

> This work is part of a long running epilogue for this fic: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15497619/chapters/35976534
> 
>  
> 
> Kudos and comments are always greatly appreciated :)


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